Spoiling Revenge
by jinnabun
Summary: Matt and Mello find their fates wound together, tighter than they could have guessed. And they both end up at Wammy's. This is the story of their lives, frienship, and eventual love. Rated M for swearing and drugs, as advised by readers. Off Hiatus.
1. Mail Jeevas?

So... First time with fanfiction on this site. Don't hit me!

**I guess I have to do that disclaimer thing... Right.**

**I, Jinnabun, do not own Death Note. At all. Not even a bit. Except for a couple volumes of manga. But No copyright thingies. I wish. I also don't own Orbit gum...Oops. I'd feel bad about giving something away, but that plays such a small part in this, I don't think anyone's going to go 'AHA. ORBIT. I KNOW THE PLOT. MUHAHAH...' So I think we're safe.**

**Back to the point. I OWN NOTHING.**

**This is not going to be this serious for the whole thing. I promise. Just Matt and Mello's stories are kind of sad...**

**This is gonna be long, folks. Really long. XD**

**Oh. And right. Swearing, a bit. Uhm...Drug use. Murder... I wouldn't say it's M, but definitley not for little kiddies. :D**

* * *

"Mail Jeevas."

"Mail Jeevas."

"_Mail Jeevas!"_

He didn't respond. The sugary sweet voice that called his name wasn't that of his mother. His mother. _His mother… _He could remember her hair, her voice, the feeling of her arms around him. He sat, dwarfed, in the small plastic chair, gripping the sides as choking sobs racked his small frame.

"Mail."

"Mail! Sweetheart! You need to come downstairs now! It's time for school! Your first day, don't you want to get there on time?" Mail's mother was a happy woman, smiling as she shook her son awake, her auburn curls bouncing.

"But Mamma! I don't need to go to kindergarten!" the boy moaned, "If I skip this year, by the time the other kids are done with it, we'll be the same kind of smart! Then they won't laugh at me anymore." He reasoned.

"No, sweetheart. You need to learn new things. Momma loves you, and you need to be as smart as you can be. That ways, when you're good and grown, you can be a doctor, or a lawyer like your father! That ways you can be great, and make money, and you can live anywhere you want to. My boy will be the smartest."

"But what if I can't be smartest? What if someone's smarter than me!" He hated the idea of his mother's disapproval.

"No, Sweet. You've misunderstood! You'll be the smartest just as long as you're you! And you are a boy who is going to be late for the first day! Up!" She laughed.

* * *

"Mail." The voice brought him back, "Are you Mail, sweetie?" Fake fingernails threaded through his knotted hair, smoothing the tangles, "You need to follow me."

He stood, holding her manicured hand, his chin tucked towards his chest, squinting.

She noticed.

"Hun, do you need glasses or something?" She was chewing gum; he hated to listen to it.

Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

She led him down the hall, her shoes clacking against the ground.

Clack. Clack.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Chomp. Chomp. I'll find you something." She sat him down in a more comfortable chair, down the hall from the first, "Stay here."

She wandered off. Chomp. Chomp. Clack. Clack. Clack.

* * *

"Darling. Do you like my new shoes?" His mother skipped into their small kitchen, skirt swirling, into the arms of her current man. Mail watched in silence, chewing on his cereal.

"You look good in everything." The man told her, as she laughed, swaying.

This one was good. He didn't hit her, just Mail. When she wasn't there. The man hated kids. Most did. They all loved his mother, though. She was a beauty.

"You look lovely, Mamma."

"Mail!" She left the arms that were encircling her. "Why don't you look sharp in that outfit?" She'd let the boy dress himself, and he scratched his head absently as he examined his outfit. His glasses slipped to the tip of his nose as he took in the black and white stripes of his shirt. He pushed them up as he heard the click of a lighter.

"Dear! Must you smoke in here?" She gasped, reaching to snuff out the cigarette before the man could take a drag.

"Fine." He huffed. Mail knew he'd just go get something stronger later. "Carrot-top. I've got something for you. A game, see? I thought you might like it!" The man laughed. They all did this. It was obvious to anyone that Mail was his mother's weakness, she loved seeing him happy, loved what made him happy. They spoiled him when she was there, and hit him when she wasn't.

* * *

"Here." Oh. Joy. The gum lady was back. Mail reached out, taking the goggles from her hand, "It's all they had. I didn't know that they made swimming goggles with prescription, but it's all we had left. Mail felt silly putting the goggles on, but they were nice, he could finally make out the soft features of the gum lady, and there was an orange glow that made things feel warm. His teal eyes probably looked brown in that glow.

"Come, boy, we need to know your story." She lead him towards a group of men who wore the same uniform as her own. He glared at the sign that marked the building as a police station.

"Alright."

* * *

He walked through the door. It was months later, and he expected to see her mothers current man drinking one of those smelly things that make his brain tingle if he tries to drink them, or taking one of the white pills that make him happy. It'd been a while since he'd been given the game, and but a few short weeks since another man had presented a computer with a flourish. He'd learned to do anything on the computer. With electronics. The lights of the game mesmerized him, and the computer made it easy to ignore things. His mother was glad to see him happy. Mail thought this new man was great. He'd come to Mail with a deal, recently. Mail got him money from other people's bank accounts, and the man gave him the pills. He hoped that there would be more each day. He hated the shaking, though. The shaking and the moaning that came when the happiness went away. The man always had more though. Mail hoped the man was home.

"Get me my money!" the fist came hard into Mail's cheek. There will be pills. There will be pills. The boy repeated this in his head over and over. It helped him not to cry. He glared up at the man.

"Momma's going to see that. It'll bruise. She'll know you did it."

The man glared at Mail, hate in his eyes. "If she sees this bruise, then she might as well see more! She'll be mad all the same." Another fist. A slap. A yank. Mail groaned internally at the pain and the sudden feel of loss…this meant no pills tonight. He blocked his mind off, avoiding the pain.

"I'm a fucking five year old!" He screamed, wishing his mother was home.

"And yer too smart for your own good! How'd a little boy get so smart?" Another punch. A wave of pain.

"She'll leave you!" Mail wailed, craving freedom, "She'll take me, an' we'll go. We've done it before!"

"No she won't. She's mine." The words rang with finality. Punch. Slap. Blood coughed onto the carpet.

* * *

"And that was two days ago," Mail continued, "I found her dy---dying yest—yest--yesterday when I got h-home." He stuttered. "She told me—She said it was him. She said that- that he didn't want her t-to be with an-anyone e-e-else." He could feel the sobs coming, as they'd come all day. The four officers looked at each other in disgust at the man, wincing as the boy continued, "There was----was blood—all over her chest. She said it was hurting." He shuddered slightly, "B-but then she said she was going to ---to sleep. So I---I let her. But. But she wouldn't wake up. I tried and tried. She wouldn't. So I went to the people in the room across the hall, and they took me here. I don't want to spend the night here again. I hate it here. I want to go home." He gasped, before shutting his mouth. His story was done.

"We'll be back." The police men whispered, shaken. They went out to the hall, leaving Mail to silence. He sat in the wooden chair for a few moments, swinging his legs, before getting up to go to the door. He needed to go to the bathroom. Badly.

"---an orphanage. She's gone. Dead. We can't do anything for her. The man's dead too. We just got word," A new man was talking to the police, "We just received word that her killer was murdered by the mafia, stupid scum killed the woman and then got on a plane to Russia, and he was killed less than an hour later. The boy has no family. Just a dead mom. The father was a lawyer; the child was born from one of his affairs. The father's dead. Both sets of Grand-parents are dead as well—"

Mail shut the door. Well, he thought, that was more information of his father than he'd ever received from his mother. Orphan. The word rang in his head. Orphan. His sweet mother wasn't going to kiss him goodnight anymore. He held in a sob. The man too, he was dead, Mail wasn't one for revenge, but it would've been something to live for, for once he wished he was just as duffle-brained as the other kids his age. Angst. He tasted the word. It seemed too dull for what he was feeling. He wished he had pills. He wanted pills. He needed pills. All of a sudden they were all that he could think about. The room was spinning. Faster. Faster. The walls turned white. Then there was a crack of pain as he fell to the floor. Mother. Dead. He slammed back into awareness. He wished he had a game. He sat against the wall, staring at the scars that laced his pale arms. They'd been from past beatings. He still had bruises from the last beating. From the dead man. There were scars slicing open the top of his arm from the pills. The pills made him see things, feel things, the pills had made him want to see blood once. He traced a scar with a finger. The blood hadn't been as cool when he woke up.

"Mail."

He groaned. Gum lady. She'd spit it out, finally, thank God.

"Uhm…dear?" She questioned, "We need to put you in a home. Just for tonight. Then Someone's going to come visit you. Okay?"

"Whatever." He was back to one-word answers. Momma's auburn curls, happy smile. Gone. Forever._ Taken _from him.

"…We're going to have someone visit you. Okay? He's going to help us place you."

"Alright."

He was promptly placed into a cruiser, and sent to the 'home.' It was a large brick building, with plain windows. It looked sullen. It was overflowing with kids. Lovely. Mail was incredibly aware of the goggles he wore as he walked into an office, gum lady's shoes still making their clack sound.

"How can I help you?" The plump blond woman behind the desk asked.

"Hello, I'm here with Ma---"

"Matt. My name's Matt. I miss my mom." He might've picked a different name if Miss Chew hadn't already said Ma- but that was now unavoidable. Mail was his mother's right to call him. Mail was hers. He refused to listen to other people use her name to address him. They could have Matt. Lady Orbit looked at Mail quizzically. He glared at her.

"Uhm, yes. This is Matt. He's my charge, I'm Mrs. Po---"

"I'm going to look around. Bye!" Mail called out, cutting her off. Hearing her name would ruin his fun. He can just imagine that her name was Mrs. Popper, or something gum related. Mail raced out into the courtyard. There were kids all around. He spotted a girl with a gameboy. Perfect.

"Hello?" He mumbled, shuffling towards her. "I'm new. What's your name?"

She looked up at him, glancing at the goggles, before staring at his shirt, which was three sizes too big, went down to his knees, and had a police insignia on it, he'd changed because his old one was covered in his mother's blood. That'd probably draw attention. At the thought of his mother, tears began to bud into his eyes. The girl took in the scars, the tears, and the fading bruise on his neck in a flash. "Here." She sighed, "Have my game."

If he'd gotten what he'd wanted, why did it hurt so bad? He took the game and started to play from her level. He beat the entire thing in ten minutes. He handed it back, 'You won!' flashing, to the girl, who looked at him in shock. Then Mail left and went out back. This seemed to be the place where teenagers were. Perfect. On the rare occasion that the man couldn't supply Mail with his white ovals, he'd found a teenager to get him some. That was harder. Mail was five. Even dealers don't like selling a 'toddler' drugs. His height helped. I looked seven. Big whoop. Dealers didn't like to sell to seven year olds either.

There! A boy just handed a white pill to another boy, making the mistake of looking too guilty. Mail shamelessly approached him. "How much?" He asked.

The boy looked at him in shock. "Sorry kid. This isn't candy."

Mail looked down at the boy who was much taller than he was. "I know what they are. I need them. Fast." The proximity to his haven, the things that would make him forget he ever had a mother, intoxicated him. "So how much for one? Or two?" He continued.

The boy looked around, it was obvious that he wanted money. An internal battle won out, as the boy realized that Mail probably couldn't pay, and that if Mail had money, it wouldn't be hard to take, Mail saw it all in the teen's eyes.

"lemme stop you there." He began, "I don't have the money in cash, but if you can get us out for a 'walk' you'll get it, I can pay double what you charge if you get me a computer, if not, we'll have to see. I have nothing on me, so please don't beat me up, I'm bruised enough for now, and no, I'm not joking. I want the pills." Of course this sounded ridiculous coming from his young voice, but the pills were so close. Probably in the boy's pocket. His head was starting to hurt with desire.

"Fine." The boy said, "You give me money, I give you drugs. You tell, I'll kill you."

"I'm here for tonight only. Why should I tell?" Mail reasoned, _drugs_ he filed the word away for later, "Computer."

The boy gasped in shock as Mail immediately broke into a low-security bank account, it only had three hundred dollars, but he'd take it all, they couldn't trace the theft once Mail pressed a few of the buttons. He only wanted a pill, but it didn't hurt to tip the boy, plus, while he was out, he might as well buy himself a new shirt. Mail sent the boy to request their 'walk,' he came back victorious. They boy hadn't caused trouble in a while, so it'd been authorized. They left, traipsing down the street, before the teen pulled Mail into a store.

"Your look needs fixing, you can pay me back with the money. I can't even look at you, let alone be seen with you like that."

"Alright." Mail had already seen a rack of striped shirts that reminded him of that day so long ago, he picked one out, a medium, he wanted it big. The dealer returned with a pair of tight jeans, similar to the ones that the teen had on.

"I'm Jerry. Call me Jerr." The teen allowed.

"Ma-Matt." Mail replied, the name was foreign to him.

"Try these on, Matt. I don't know how you got this way, but the least I can do is give you your own style." Jerr whispered.

"Ah." He grabbed the jeans and the shirt and went into the changing room, shrugging out of his shorts and his oversized cop shirt, and sliding on the tight denim, sticking his head into the sleeves of the shirt. It dwarfed him. He loved it. His boots looked strange with it, but in a good way, at least to a five year old. Apparently Jerr did too, because when Mail stepped out, Jerr clapped his hands together.

"Great! You look almost human!" He laughed, "I grabbed you a vest in case you get cold" He said, tossing something furry at me, he frowned, reaching for the goggles.

"They stay." he said, stepping back, he put it into less strange terms, "They're different." he mumbled, Mail wanted to say 'I want them because they make the world turn orange, and it makes me feel all warm inside' but Jerr might find that odd. The thought of Jerr, standing two feet away brought Mail back to the pills. He changed fast, once Jerr paid, and then they left the store. He put on the vest, but left it unzipped. The outfit made him look older. Mail felt older.

"C'mon." he mumbled, dragging Jerr towards an ATM. He'd thrown away the slip of paper with the account information on it when he threw away the clothes, but it didn't matter, he'd memorized it. He took out all three hundred, feeling slightly bad for Tom Chewey, but the name reminded him of Gum lady, so he wasn't that upset. He approached Jerr warily, but if the boy ripped him off, Mail could just hack in and cut the service to Jerr's new cell phone, which the boy was currently using. When Mail told him that, Jerr paled, and nodded. Mail didn't see that as harsh. He could also hack police reports and sexual predator lists, but he trusted Jerr a little. And he needed a pill.

He headed back to Jerry, and flaunted his three hundred. Jerr's eyes bulged a little, and he dug in his pocket and pulled out a pill. "This had better be real, Jerr." Mail warned, "If it's fake, you'll regret it." Jerry handed it to Mail.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." He whispered, "Giving drugs to a fucking kid. A fucking five year old kid."

"Let's go back." Mail grinned. He'd swallow it when we got back to the 'home.'

A half hour later, Mail was laying on his cot, Jerr was watching him from the floor, waiting for his high, as Jerry had called it, the happy feeling. Mial could feel it trickling in. He felt strange with Jerry there, no one had ever sat through it with him, not even the dead man. Jerry had refused to leave him alone, opting to keep a clean watch on Mail. On the kid. Mail grinned as it kicked in. His reason for living. His last thought before he soared off was of his mother.

* * *

The next morning, Mail woke with a huge headache, but Jerry had left a bottle of water on the bed beside him, first, Mail stumbled across the hall, into the bathroom, throwing up all that was in him, racking his body with retching and dry sobbing. Then he got in the shower. He stood in the hot water until it ran cold, before crossing the hall naked, not caring if anyone saw, he was five, he could do stuff like that. He struggled into the clothes from the day before, they smelled like sweat, but he didn't care. They didn't smell bad, so he didn't care. His vision swam in the light from the window before he remembered his goggles. With a snap, they covered his eyes, and things were better. He took a swig from the water bottle. The shower had helped his head, and the retching had helped settle his stomach, but young Mail still felt as though he was going to faint when there was a sharp rap on his door and a call of "New boy! Visitor!"

He stumbled out the door and down the hall, stopping to nick the gameboy from the courtyard, where the girl must have left it the day before. Finders keepers. He ended up in the office, looking around, glad the goggles masked how baggy and bloodshot his teal green eyes were.

A voice called from behind. "Mail?"

Mail turned, and looked around in confusion. The only person there was a teenage boy. He wore a white shirt, jeans, and was holding a pair of sneaker in his hands, Mail looked down, the boy was barefoot. Wild black hair, pale skin, bags under his eyes. Mail decided to state the obvious. "I don't know you."

"I know."

Mail felt his headache worsen slightly. "I'm not Mail." He said, "My name is Matt."

The strangers brow creased. "Mail. You are Mail. Jeevas. Age five. Orphan." The boy held up a picture of Mail at his fifth birthday between his thumb and forefinger. "Mail."

Mail sighed. This was creepy. "Alright. This is strange, you may call me Matt. Mail is out of use." Let us go walk outside." Then

The strange teen smiled. "I see." He laughed, "Let's go outside." He then walked in a slouch to the front door, stepped out, and crouched down on the stoop. Some walk.

"Who are you?" Mail asked, joining him.

"Answer a few of my questions first, please." The teenage boy sighed. Before allowing Mail to answer, he began, "Do you consider yourself smart? Do you like it here? Do you have talents that use your brain? Have you ever left the country? Do you like criminals? Do you see others as inferior? What's your favorite type of music? Can you follow these rapid questions without faltering with an answer or asking me to repeat?" The teen fired off in rapid succession.

Mail was interested. This was like a test. "Yes I do. Jerry's okay, but I'd rather leave. I'm good with electronics. No I haven't. What kind of criminals? Only when they make stupid mistakes. I don't really listen to music, but if I do I like anything loud. Yes…?" Mail replied, making sure he hadn't missed a question.

The teen thought it over. "I'm interested by your response to my question about criminals, Matt-kun. A criminal is one who breaks the law, is there one type of criminal that is superior to others?" Kun, Mail thought. He must have at least spent some time in Japan.

What do I say to that question? 'Oh hey mysterious stranger. I hack computers to get money for pills, but I like myself.' No. "Uhm. I guess criminals are bad."

The teen smiled. "My name's L. You're coming with me to England. To a place called Wammy's house."

Leave America? Leave New York? Leave where he grew up? His mother?

"I'm an orphan too, Matt-kun." The boy named L mumbled, "I know how it feels."

This was it. Mail burst into tears. He hugged his knees and cried harder than he did in the police office. His entire body shuddered. "I miss momma!" He wailed.

L hugged him. One moment he was on the stairs, crying, the next he was in L's lap, tears coursing down his face. His tired eyes burned from the tears, and he slowly calmed down.

"I'll go." He whispered.

"Good." L replied, smiling down at Mail, "I'll send for you in a few days. I need to take a trip to Russia, then a man named Wammy will come for you. We are, after all, going to his house." A black car pulled up to the curb, and L stood, placing Matt on the step, "Goodbye."

The entire meeting took five minutes.

* * *

It was two in the afternoon when the older boys came to halt his game playing and 'beat him up," Mail looked up, blinking, as a lug of a boy grabbed his shirt. "What the fuck?" Mail asked, forced to his tippy toes, "Go away."

"We don't wanna, runt." The boy sneered.

"How now. What sort of play is this. Young boys should play a rousing game of football or some such. The Yankees are on television inside." Mail turned to gape at Jerry's mocking face.

"Whatever, Jerry."

"Yeah! Get a life."

"Ruin our fun."

They boys slowly cracked under the gaze of an elder, even if only by seven years or so, and they went back to kicking puppies, or whatever they'd been doing before.

"How are you, my pint-sized friend?" Jerry laughed. Mail glared at the cracked screen of the game.

"I was about to unlock the battle armor", he groaned, kicking it across the pavement.

"Well at least that wasn't you." Jerry joked, "I figured the money you gave me yesterday would include bodyguard detail." Mail was suddenly very glad that he'd given a tip.

* * *

"This had better be legit." Jerry mumbled, looking the man named Wammy up and down. Mail was already holding his hand, ready to go, "Because you're going to England with people you don't know. It just seems shady."

"Jerr!" Mail laughed, "Look who's talking!" They cracked grins.

A quick hug, and Mail was gone. Into a luxury car. Gone.

"Bye, Matt." Jerr whispered to no one.

Two minutes later, Mail put his hands in his vest pocket, only to feel a piece of paper. Expecting a tag when he pulled it out, he found Jerry's cell phone number, scrawled in sharpie, under it was a simple note to call, if he ever got into trouble.

He had no idea that on the other side of the world, L was tracking down a member of the Mafia, the six year old boy who had stolen Mail's revenge.

* * *

**Hey. Jinna here. Please don't flame me. Please. xD But if you must, you must. What can I do about it? Sorry about the OC. Jerry's only in this chapter, I believe. I have no future plans of bringing him back. Matt just wanted some Ecstasy. Sorry about all the drugs, I hope I wrote him okay. It was harder than it seems to write a five year old genius, who's also an addict, an orphan, and just odd. Correct me right away if I screwed something up, and I'll change it. My BETA went MIA. Next Chappie's about Mello. P.S. I don't plan on killing them off. I have insomnia and haven't slept for three days...but that isn't an excuse. Sorry.**


	2. Our Mafia Boss Is A Kid?

**Okay. SORRY that it's taken so long to upload. Mello was being difficult. I tried to make it long, so it might sate your thirst...It's not my best but...forgive meeee!**

**DISCLAIMER-THINGY: I don't own Death Note. Nor do I own A Death Note...or things would be bad.**

**I don't own any other connections to things in this chapter.**

**Before you ask, the right hand and the nameless man ARE the same person. 'Kay?**

**...=/ There are a LOT of swears in here, I think it's like up to 30 or something. Sorry, it's just how Mello wanted to talk...with potty language.**

**I had more to say, but I think I forget what it was. Mello was hard to write, but also pretty fun. **

**THANKS LIKE A MILLION TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED, FAVORITED, AND ALERTED THE PILOT CHAPTER [as in, chapter 1] I LOVE YOU LIKE MAD.**

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Mihael Keehl stood beside his father's chair in a previously abandoned warehouse. Inside, however, the room was clean and used, a hideout for the mafia. Mihael stood at attention on his father's right side. A place of honor. He was the son of the Boss. The king. The head Honcho. Call it what you like. Mihael was an heir to the Mafia itself. He stood a little straighter and glared down at the man who cowered at his father's feet.

"Kill him, Daddy." Mihael said, his young voice clear and ringing. The frightened man winced. A six year old boy had just sentenced him to death. Mihael's father looked down at his son impassively.

"Why?" It was a test. They both knew it. This man had made a hit without consent, and gotten a loyal man killed. Death was the sentence.

"Because." Mihael wanted to say something witty like, 'you can' or 'I don't like the man's face' but he'd gotten a beating once for disrespecting death. This cowardly man had a life. His father would end it soon, but it was still life. The young boy smoothed his blond hair and clutched at his rosary before looking up at his father, "That man" He pointed at the man in question, "Is a casualty waiting to happen. He has proved his disloyalty. It can happen again. We can't risk it."

His father glanced at his son's face with a twinge of worry. A six year old who talks of death as if killing's a game. The man smothered the feeling. The boy was right. He cocked his gun. "Fair enough."

A shot rang out.

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Tears slipped silently down the boys face, the only time that he'd ever shed a tear in front of his father. Mihael plucked at the dead man's sleeve in grief, wishing him back to life. He was an orphan now, his mother had died birthing him, and now his father...

Hands tugged at him, and he was dragged away. His tears stopped as suddenly as they came. He would be a fool to lose it all now, everything he'd trained for. He was the heir. The hard-ass heir to the Russian crime. Crime. All of it. His. So why was he willing to give it all up for his father? He didn't have an answer. He was a six year old boy who needed to do his job.

"They'll be here soon." Mihael whispered to his father's right hand. The sleek man who'd never failed. Mihael pointed at the gunman, the bullet holes in his body hadn't been made in time to save his father. Half of the wounds on the killer were from Mihael's own gun. The man resembled a bloody hunk of Swiss cheese. He shuddered, positive that the man had died by his hand, Mihael's first kill. He banished the thought, he'd be able to kill easier now, "we need to get out. Now. I need everyone intact."

Mihael's right hand nodded and walked away. He belonged to Mi—Mello now. Mello had been his father's nickname, it would be Mihael's until he was old enough to earn one from his 'subjects.' What had been his fathers' was now his. Possessions, people, everything. His father's right hand was now Mello's possession. A hole opened in the floor. The right hand grabbed Mello. He was priority number one. They were already prepared to die for the boy.

By the time the doors burst open, and guns were pointed in, nothing was left in the warehouse, but chairs, a lit cigar, a brandy bottle, and two dead bodies, one was lain out, one was in a heap.

Mello was in a cavern. A tunnel, watching the assassins poke his father's corpse with the tips of their guns. Mello's fists clenched. It was a sign of dignity, for the heir to watch the killers get away. Mello senior hadn't been sure that his son would be able to do it. To stifle the desire for revenge, and take the power instead. To the shock of each person in the cavern with him, Mello turned, and began barking out orders. He had a mafia to run. And he was six.

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A few weeks later, Mello sat down hard in his seat, very much comfortable with the glances he received. He has three trusted gunmen at his back, and had just authorized a massive hit on a wealthy business man. He hooked his feet up, even at such a young age, he was a natural.

"Mello." A man who had been close to his father approached him, "I went out today for some cigarettes, and saw this on sale. Have you—Have you ever tried chocolate?"

The blond boy turned his head towards the man. "No." he stated blandly, "I never bothered. It's too girly." He sneered, scrunching up his nose, looking very much like the child he was.

"I see." The man placed the chocolate on the table beside Mello. "I'll just leave it here, in case you change your mind."

Mello smiled. If he was anyone else, the man might have goaded him into trying it, but the men knew that doing such a thing to their young leader could get a bullet to the head. It was good that they feared him. It didn't matter how smart he was, his position was perched on the tip of a gun. One shot, and it was over. He was safe, as long as people thought of him as a pawn, if not a pawn easy on the trigger. Better safe than sorry; better dead than a risk; that was Mello's reasoning.

He glanced at the chocolate bar; its blue wrapper gleamed at him. It looked like it was mocking him. Daring him to eat it. He looked away. His fingers drilled a beat on the arm of his chair. He could see the chocolate out of the corner of his eye, chocolate had never looked very appetizing before. His stomach growled.

"If I don't have food in front of me soon, I'll be forced to eat this chocolate bar. Then there'll be hell to pay." He called towards the makeshift kitchen, where a man was hurriedly making pasta, it was comical, really.

He already had very feminine features; he didn't need to be known as a candy-toting child. That wouldn't help.

He looked around. No one would see if he took a bite. Not because he wanted to, of course. Just that…he was so hungry! That was it! He was practically starving, so why not try a little, just to sate his hunger. If he didn't like it, he could always take his anger out on the pasta man.

In a moment, Mello was sliding a knife through the wrapping, very meticulously prying the covering apart. The paper crackled slightly, and the foil made even more noise, no one noticed it. The men went about their tasks, obliviously. He glared at it for a moment. Angrily, as if proving to himself that it was useless, he snapped off a corner with a crack, chewing slowly.

His eyes widened. It was---amazing. There were no other words to describe it. More. He needed more than this one bar. He stared at it. No wonder people always talked about it No one noticed the boy's epiphany.

Girly…the word swirled in the back of his mind. _Well, I'll just have to fix that. _He needed something masculine. He looked around the room, pansies, the lot of them. He sighed, bitterly, picking at the leather on his chair. _Leather…_ It'll do.

"John." He called to the man who had brought him heaven, "Could you… go to the store and get more of this? Buy it all if you can. Now."

The man called John grinned, and grabbed his bag, leaving without a word, while the others stared in shock. The boy actually asked a question. He'd made a request! It wasn't a threat, an order, or extortion. It had been a hesitant question voiced by lips that seemed unused to phrasing a request.

The amazement continued, "You there!" The boy shouted, pointing to a man who was headed to the bathroom, "Go get me some---I mean..." Mello paused, chewed his lips for a moment, and continued, "Could you—please—go get me leather? Like…Clothes? A jacket, or a vest or something?"

He said please. The man gaped at him in shock. No one was sure that they'd _ever_ heard Mello say please. It just wasn't done. The man practically mowed the others down in his haste to complete the task.

Mello fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable, before cocking his gun. "What're you all looking at?"

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Suffice to say that Mello found himself a leather-clad chocolate fiend at the early age of six.

And he still missed his father.

A few days later, a man by the name of John found himself backed into a wall by a nameless man called right hand. The man's glare alone was enough to paralyze John.

"What have you done?!?" The nameless man asked, "I promised his father I'd take care of him. I can't do that if all he eats is that chocolate shit you gave him!" The man shouted, leaving no room for argument.

"Well…I know, but---but he seems _happy_ now, doesn't he? Seems more like a kid. He's nicer, and he's not a scary, homicidal robot child!" John said, very much on the defensive, "I just wanted him to be a kid, although the leather fetish was unexpected."

The nameless man turned and strode away without a word, groaning internally. Now he'd have to find ways to protect the child from assassins _and_ diabetes!

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A few days later, disaster started with a phone call and a gunshot.

Mello relaxed in a new chair, a nicer chair. It'd only been a week or so since he was introduced to chocolate, and he was already completely clad in black leather, unhappily crunching on a stick of celery, glaring at the man who had no name, the same man, who five minutes before had taken Mello's gun and handed him a tray of 'health food', refusing to give him chocolate until he ate all of the disgusting vegetables.

Mello gagged pitifully, very much looking like a vegetarian forced to eat liver. It wasn't his fault, everything tasted horribly bland when compared to the richness of cocoa. He sighed unhappily.

The phone rang, suddenly, surprising both Mello, and the man with no name. The only people who had the number for that, admittedly illegal, phone line, were sitting in that room; it was the personal line. As in personal between the nameless right hand, and Mello himself. Mello reached over, glancing questioningly at the man across from him, who shrugged, they both knew that it was probably a prank call.

Mello, who picked up the phone with the intent of telling the caller to 'fuck off' decided to amuse himself, "Hello, you've reached the Mafia, Mello, boss from hell speaking!" He chirped, ignoring the annoyed glare the comment earned him from the other person in the room.

"Ah. Mello-kun. I've reached the right place. You have managed to surprise me by answering the phone by yourself. I was afraid I'd have to lie my way into speaking with you."

Mello nearly dropped the phone. The nameless man's look turned from annoyed to quizzical in a moment. Mello scrabbled at the phone, making sure it was attached firmly to his ear as he grabbed a pen and a pad of paper.

_Someone knows this #._

_Knows my name._

_Is from…Japan?_

_Or at least uses Japanese honorifics in habit._

_Unless that's what he wants me to think?_

He wrote fast, using his initial theories would help him with deductions later. The right hand read over his shoulder.

"Are you there, Mello-kun? It would be awful to get in touch with you, just to lose connection. I despise portable phones." The monotone continued, "I have something to tell you, a warning, as well as an offer."

_Offer. Warning?_

_Monotone._

_Doesn't like modern day technology…?_

_What a fuck._

_Get to the point. _

_I don't have all day._

His thoughts poured from the pen to the paper, noticing the right hand's enthralled, yet slightly disapproving gaze focused completely on the paper, he decided to make the most of the situation.

_I finished most of my broccoli._

_I wish I had chocolate._

_Oh, shit. The fucker's talking again._

He sighed in contentment as an unwrapped chocolate bar was placed into his grip.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked, "If you're one of my motherfucking men trying to prank call me…"

The voice was muffled for a moment, speaking to someone else; all he grasped were the words: 'language' and 'can be fixed'. Mello laughed. Yeah. Fix _him._ Mello wasn't the dumb ass with the monotone.

"You will most likely find out shortly." Was the only reply.

_Fucker._

He wrote on the note pad, in his messy, youthful scrawl. Frankly, people thought his vocabulary was amazing. He could also read, write, and curse like a sailor.

_Won't give name. _

_Wants to fix my language._

_He can fucking try._

_Might as well put on a show…_

"Listen here, you stupid ass fucker, I am not the usual fucking idiot you must expect." No, he decided, not good enough "Tell me your fucking name, bitch. You can't fuck with me, motherfucker, I am the original fucker. You can't fuck the original motherfucker."

The nameless man simply shook his head in exasperation. The last time he corrected Mello's language, he got a gun cocked at him. Although, Mello didn't have a gun on him right now, his skin tight outfit, and the lack of shooting earlier, when he was forced to eat like a human, made that clear. The man banished the thought, he considered himself half maid, half guardian, which was what his father would have wanted.

"Mello-kun. I will not sink to your level of profanity, but I will allow myself to assume that you are not the original…what you just said, due to the fact that you are six. I must also point out that my information may save your life."

_Burn._

_Ouch. God damn motherfucker got me there. _

_Oh shit._

_Wait._

_How does he know I'm---_

_My life---What the hell?_

At this point the man who had no name was tapping into the call, after already trying and failing to trace the number to its source. His face paled, who could know this much about---

"Talk."

"In about ten minutes there will be quite a few large men with automatic rifles infiltrating the building, while most of your gunmen are currently out doing what you've sent them to do—"

Mello dropped his pen.

"They will surround the building; they will kill you if they catch you. You must get out of the building. Immediately."

Mr. Monotone was speed talking now.

"I would prefer that you shoot no one. That would be appreciated." The man went on, getting a snort out of the six year old boy who was currently standing up, looking around and grabbing his gun from where his right hand had stashed it, "Get out now. Get a car. Please don't steal it. Get to a Marriott hotel in . I have connections in those hotels. Go. Now. Get your people out."

"What the fu---"

The line went dead.

Mello stared at the man. Shock. Panic. Hysteri---he had a job to do. Faster than the nameless man could register, Mello was flying down the stairs, skipping four at a time, a race of black and blond and youth.

"GET THE FUCK OUT. ALL OF YOU. ORDER. OUT NOW." He wailed, the men stared in shock, before reaching for their guns, Mello flew by. He raced through every underground level, screeching for "EVERY MOTHERFUCKER TO GET OUT OF THE FUCKING BUILDING." They complied, looking to the right hand for confirmation.

Mello was in a panic. "GET YOUR SHIT. DON'T JUST LEAVE THE COMPUTERS. UP. YOU WANT TO DIE?" He went everywhere; his language could easily rival even the darkest sinner. By the time he got back to his 'guardian' he was sweating, shaking, pale, and screaming for them to split up.

By the time the last man was sprinting into an underground tunnel, the same one they'd visited during the last raid, the raid that killed the previous Mello, the boy had his gun in one hand and the other was clamped to the wrist of the man who'd sworn to protect him.

This had better be fucking real, he thought to himself, if I just flipped a shit for nothing I'm screwed. Then the doors burst open, and the man was pulling him into the ground. He took aim, and shot a man straight to the forehead. You ain't living through _that_ motherfucker. Then the door slammed closed, and he was swelled in darkness.

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All he remembered was whimpering in the arms of many different men, all he could hear were shouts of: "You got the kid, right!", "The boy! We got the boy?", "Mello had better be alive!", and even, "That little kid, he's safe, right? He got us all out. The boy's safe, right!?!?"

Wow, he thought to himself, they do care. It was a novel concept. It was like a family, a massive dysfunctional family, or at least a Mello approximation of one. He still had his gun, a safety blanket; people were carrying him, down the tunnels, through the dark. It was cold. In his other hand he held his half eaten chocolate bar, no chocolate gets left behind. In any other situation the thought would have made him laugh, he didn't now.

He could feel himself pulling the trigger. He didn't know why. He'd killed people before, but he couldn't justify the death. For some reason. He killed a man once for selling killing someone. Killing for killing. That hadn't made sense either, but he hadn't felt _guilty_ about it…maybe guilty was the wrong word. Remorseful was better. That man could have had a family.

_Family._ Like what was going on now. He'd realized that he had a family, and now he had to leave. This meant they had a rat. Somewhere. Lovely. He couldn't dwell on the dead man, or the…thrill that came with pulling that trigger.

Don't think about it. Plan. Right.

He found himself, later, half asleep, in the gloved hands of the nameless man. About ten seconds after realizing this, the doors burst open. Light flooded his awareness, he found himself in a filled parking lot, surrounded by blinking gangsters and hit men, as well as a wide selection of cars.

"Where are we?"

The man looked at him. "Somewhere. I'm going to have to find us a car."

Mello looked around pointedly.

"Hmmphh."

"I just killed a man. Are you seriously telling me you won't drive a stolen car for me? Some scary mafia man you are." Mello scoffed.

"Sometimes I forget that you're six." Was the only reply.

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They'd followed monotone's instructions to the point of perfection…minus the part about grand theft auto and murder. Other than that, they were golden. They'd left the headquarters in a different building, one slightly less exciting than the last, but whatever.

They were sitting in their hotel room, looking over the laptops that they'd managed to grab before people came to kill them. Oh happy days.

Mello was trying to figure out who had stolen money from his bank account, swearing his head off, not bothering with the whole 'under your breath' bullshit. What's the point? He'd purposefully created the account with a stupid name. Tom Chewey. He'd only put three hundred in there, and he had been preparing to drop mad money into that account, he wasn't that angry, when you run the mafia, three hundred doesn't faze you.

He tried to ignore it, but it was a moral thing. Who the hell hacks a pathetic ass bank account? You could take that much from someone much better well off and they wouldn't even notice, but only a real fucker steals an amount that could be a kids birthday money, or someone's rent. Cruel.

Plus, when he tried to trace the…evil thief, the bastard routed the theft through several South American, African, and Asian small banks, that made the money practically fall off the map, his superior intellect traced it to America, before he grabbed his gun, he wanted to shoot something.

Instead, he got chocolate. It's all the same. Today, he looked more like a child prostitute than a mob boss, but he didn't care. He liked clothes tight; the nameless right hand just gave him a look and muttered something about six year old porn stars.

Then, someone knocked on their door.

"Stupid cleaning." He groaned, "THERE'S A DO NOT DISTURB SIGN." He called, wanting to add a 'fuck' in for good measure. It was fast becoming his favorite word, but he restrained himself.

"I am not a maid, Mello-kun."

"Shit. Man, its monotone!" Mello shook the nameless man awake; he'd lain down for a nap, about three minutes before.

"Wha---?"

"Get up."

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"Stupid, dirty, mother fucking shits."

Mello stomped across the hotel room; L was perched on a chair in the corner, trying to convince Mello to lose everything.

"Why the hell should I leave my home? I already had to watch my father die, and I've killed more men than I can count, just to stay. I don't want to leave." He ranted, pacing in and out of the detective's view, who was staring at a spot on the wall, across the room.

Mello chomped down more chocolate. The fucker had a point.

If Mello stayed, he risked the lives of every man under him, for eventually there would be a coup, and Mello would be killed, along with those loyal to him.

That didn't mean he couldn't whine about it, albeit in his own angry way.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. ---"The F-word became a chant, to keep pace with his constant steps. The six year old was a flurry of anger and desperation, "Well what do _you _fucking suggest?" He turned on the nameless man, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Go." The man whispered, "Name a successor and go. Come back to us when you're older. This…Eraldo," he spoke, jerking his head sadly at the teen, "promises your safety. We'll give you a tail, assign a group to England, we'll stay until we're sure of your safety, then you may return to us. We will leave a space for you, indefinitely."

Mello was ashamed to find tears in his eyes. He didn't cry. He just didn't, he stomped to the in-room bathroom, slamming the door.

"FUCK." Could be heard, both people left in the room flinched at the sound of breaking glass, probably the shower door, before leaving him to his childish rage in peace.

A child could be a child, couldn't he?

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They waited for twenty minutes, mingled swears and crashes could be heard. Both males flinched occasionally at a specifically loud noise, both of their faces impassive, until Mello left the bathroom, closing the door slowly behind him.

"I'll go. It's easy, I'll just close my eyes and think of Russia." He joked, twisting a popular quote about London.

"I see." The teenage boy announced Mello still hadn't gotten over his strange looks, from his ratty shirt to his bare feet; the wild haired boy was definitely quirky, "If it is all well and good, you should choose a successor."

Mello cocked his head to the side. "Isn't it obvious? If the bastard behind me—"he jerked his thumb at his second-in-command, "can give up his mother complex and shoot something once in a while, he can keep my sea warm for me."

The man's eye's widened; it wasn't anything he'd ever expected.

"For convenience sake, I'm going to call you Conrad." He told the man, choosing a name off the top of his head, "I'll call often. I'll return when I turn 18, when I'm legal."

"You are committed to this?" The tired looking youth asked.

"Yes."

"Then I suppose I should tell you that…I am the detective called L."

The Mafia men both choked, Mello on chocolate, 'Conrad' on pure surprise.

While some may not know that name, anyone with power in the criminal world both knew it, and feared it.

Conrad looked at Mello sympathetically. "Maybe you don't need a tail after all."

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Mello did end up with a tail, a group of ten highly trained hit men, loyal as angels to God, they were currently on a passenger plane, and would silently over see Mello's ascent into adulthood. The boy himself, however, was in a private jet, holed up in the back of the plane, chewing bitterly on a dark chocolate bar, the bite to the taste matched his mood.

The fuckers had taken his gun at security. He was left defenseless. No one had ever taken his gun, well, not ever because of legalities. He felt naked. He wasn't, of course, he was in tighter leather than usual, but not _that_ tight.

He gripped the crimson beads given to him before he left by Conrad. The rosary had belonged to Mello's father, and Mello hadn't known where it had gone. He was glad to have it here, as a reminder to not kill needlessly. Mello's father had been truly religious. Mello didn't quite understand religion, but he knew enough of death to understand the importance of faith, even at six. He fingered the beads and thought of heaven. His father was there. His father had been fair and good. Mello feared that he didn't deserve the same.

The phone rang on a seat in the front, and he stood, but L got there first.

"Hello?"

"Watari?"

"_What?"_

"He had them on his person?" Whoever the detective was talking to was a friend of Mello's, who found a yelping detective hilarious.

"He had…"

"Well how do we explain this to Roger?"

L had told Mello of the director of 'Wammy's house'… Roger. Must be the same person.

"Do you know where he got them?"

"I see."

"We are going to have to get him off of them! Obviously!"

Mello snickered. Even this surprised, L managed to keep his tone from changing more than a small bit.

"Don't let him have any more. I will speak with him when we reach Wammy's."

Mello knew enough of drugs to understand the topic of conversation. "How old's the kid?" He laughed.

"Five."

"…Tough."

**Now, this time I'm ASKING for reviews. I really want feedback, because I know that a six year old mob boss is even worse than a five year old druggee. Forgive me. I got carried away. D:**

**Flames are fine, as always, as long as they hold a shred of constructive criticism, I'm going to keep writing this, regardless, but it'd make me feel good to know if the plot's too funky, or a character isn't believable. Thanks! **

** l**

** l**

** l**

** \/ ...Reviewwwwww.**


	3. They Call Them Withdrawals

**Right. Well. This one is shorter than the others... -glares at the 3,000 words-  
I tried, I really did...I don't know really.**

**I know that this is sort of a pointless chapter, but I promise that it's a necissary connection to the next chapter.  
PROMISE...PINKY SWEAR.**

**As per usual, I own nothing. No Death Note, no ecstasy [promise.], and no...other stuff that I may have put in.**

**WHATEVER. JUST READ IT. P.S. A million hugs and kisses to EVERYONE who reviewed. I mucho love you all!!!!!!! -promises to list you in the next chapter-**

**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA**

Mello had always been the king of catnaps. He slept on and off at approximately fifteen minute intervals, while on the plane, and then passed out once the black car had come to retrieve L and himself.

He woke when he heard the crunch of gravel under the tires, could slightly feel the car bumping along a driveway. It was late afternoon. He looked out the back window with bleary eyes, which he then rubbed angrily.

He'd spent his childhood in high-tech warehouses and compounds, so a massive Victorian mansion with sprawling lawns, huge windows, and a wrought iron gate was nothing he'd ever even seen before.

"Oh _shit._"

"Mello-kun. You really must watch the language." L muttered, "The children are incredibly impressionable, and most do not come from a background as colorful as your own."

"Yeah, Yeah." It was an unusual courtesy for him to not tack 'fucker' onto the end of his sentences. He was editing. L should be grateful.

"This is your new home. I have an initial test for you. Look at this." L shoved a piece of wrinkled paper in front of Mello's face, "You have thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds to what?"

"Just look at it."

"Whatever." Mello committed it to memory, before it was snatched from his grip by the irritating detective, twenty-two seconds later.

It was a map. A map of the orphanage, to be exact. Incredibly detailed, he saw things labeled 'Roger's office' and 'Library' as well as room assignments for unknown children such as 'Linda' and 'Near' at the end of the east wing, there was a label reading: 'Mello's room' and adjoining to that, was a square labeled 'Matt's room.' Every room in the building had an adjoining room to it, maybe the director was trying to cut down on shrinks or something, Mello considered, maybe he thinks that friends'll do the trick.

Who needs a therapist, when your life is ruined, and you've got a child living next door.

Mello didn't want to admit that he'd never had a friend. The term was so strange to him. Since he'd grown up with the mafia, the few occasions that he had contact with kids his age, they'd been afraid of him.

And he was never allowed to shoot them.

Ever.

One of the most important things that Mello noted on the map was a small, practically microscopic square, labeled only with an intricate L.

I'll remember _that_location, Mello thought to himself.

"Good. Mello-kun should go put his things in his room, and then report to Roger's office."

Leaving a gaping six year old behind him, L slouched off in the direction of the building, bastard needed a back brace.

Hesitantly, Mello stepped out of the truck, feeling slightly grungy in the new leather outfit. He'd gotten it before he left with L, so it wasn't that broken in. At least he'd showered before he left, he hated feeling dirty.

He already missed the mafia. He missed people at his beck and call. He missed his swivel chair, he missed the thrill, and most of all, he missed his gun.

There was something supremely comforting, knowing that you could shoot someone's face in, in a second. That was hard to do without a gun.

He rambled off to put his 'things' in his room. He assumed that by 'things', L had been referring to his only other outfit, and his massive bag of chocolate. It was easier to pack light when your only way to pack heavy meant death.

Mello wasn't a fan of death.

He paused at the doorway to the mansion, unsure of whether or not he should enter.

"Well g'din! I ain't go' all dae!" A Scottish accent piped up behind him, Mello flipped the young Scottish boy off, before deciding that he might as well own the place. He ignored the indignant squeaks coming from behind him, extremely glad that he was wearing tight leather.

Yeah. He knew he looked good….Or at least different. He stood out, even in this apparent orphanage of wackos, he saw kids of every race, gender, hair color, fashion style, everyone was different, and everyone watched him come in.

He supposed that it wouldn't be cordial to tell them all to fuck off, especially if he accompanied it with various hand gestures, and a book detailing his background.

He was tempted, stupid fuckers wouldn't even pretend that they weren't staring, but instead he paused, grabbed a chocolate bar, unwrapped it, took a bite, put on an incredibly satisfied expression, and headed off again. He enjoyed making the gawkers have to wait.

He swaggered down to his room, putting his chocolate on the bed, and tossing the clothes into the top drawer of his bureau.

He was just re-lacing his knee-high boots, when he heard a moan in the other room. Like…a dying moan. He'd heard them before, they weren't pretty, but why was someone dying over there?

He crossed the room, slowly opening the door, childhood memories preparing him for a bloody death scene, instead, very different childhood memories flared to life.

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"Why can't I see Daddy?" A four year old Mihael asked a guard, "Is he sick? I told him he looked sick when he tucked me into bed last night!" He heckled, no one kept Mihael out. It just wasn't done.

So he waited, for several hours, until his father's room emptied out. He then snuck through the air vent, crawling into his father's room.

Upon entering, it sounded as though Father was dying. He was sweating all over, curled on the floor in a ball, terrified; the young boy ran screaming from the room, before he was caught by the right hand.

"Your father's like that right now because he loves you, Mihael." The man told him, "It's because he's going to stop taking that bad stuff he doesn't let you see. Okay?"

His father never touched another drug since that night.

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The memory hurt, his father's death was still blood fresh in his life, an open wound. The pale, incredibly thin boy had managed to make it to the bed, before he lost it, he was shivering in the fetal position, on his quilt, sweat matting his auburn locks to his forehead.

The boy trembled, and moaned again, there was a bucket beside him, Mello could see vomit. He crossed the room, removing the boy's goggles, and vest, and pushing the hair back from his forehead. Only for the sake of his father.

"Momma? Mother?" The boy groaned, Mello's eyes shot open wide, it was a pained plea.

He went to the promising bag in the corner of the boy's---Matt's room and got him a large bottle of water, forcing a little down the younger boy's throat.

Mello couldn't help giggling at the boy's stupidity. "Stupid motherfucker. Brought it on yourself." There was a full length mirror on their adjoining door, and Mello paused to straighten his belt, finish lacing his boots, and fluff out his hair.

Another muffled moan. That would end up getting annoying.

Without a glance towards the door, Mello walked back out to the hallway and shimmied his hips down the hall way. He was one hell of a provocative six year old.

After three turns, a court yard, and a number of curious stares from a range of children, Mello waltzed into Roger's office, and sat, sprawling his small frame across a leather couch that was across from the desk. He was about to start breaking things in order to get L and his crime-fighting posse to hurry up, when three men entered. L with sweets, a tired looking man with coffee, and another man with…more sweets.

"Ah. Mello-kun." L smiled, "Where's Matt-kun? I expected you two to come together."

Mello snorted delicately. "Maybe you should watch him closer. Last _I_ saw him; he was suffering from withdrawals on his bed. Stupid fucker. What did he take? Had to have been _pretty damn strong. _The kid's throwing up lungs…practically."

He knew they wouldn't tell him.

The man who'd come with extra sweets hurried from the room.

There was an awkward silence.

"Is there a reason why I have to be here? I'm not a puppy. I don't move for whims. I don't even get out of bed for whims. If there's no fucking point, but to introduce me to…him" He pointed towards the coffee man, "Then I might as well go. I'm sure I'll run into him eventually."

The coffee man sighed. "I'm Roger. I'd say I'm glad to see you, but I'm really not. Sorry 'bout your parents, love the wardrobe, take these forms, fill them out later, take this test now, then you can go." Roger muttered, obviously sick of doing the orientation so many times.

Mello was handed a thick packet, and an even thicker pack of forms.

Mello grabbed the expensive looking fountain pen off of Roger's desk, and turned to take the test, enjoying the look of annoyment from the man.

The thing was a motherfucking _test_, if he was any judge. It had questions on everything from disabling bombs, to cooking brownies. Mello answered as best as he could, easily becoming bored. The whole thing took him twenty minutes, he was tired, but it was multiple choice.

He handed it to L when he was done, it was only about seven thirty, and he was already sleepy. He blinked a few times, watching as L flipped quickly through the test.

"Good job, Mello-kun. This is well done." Mello didn't bother reacting to L's praise. It would be incredibly pathetic for the leader of the Russian Mafia, one of the most devious in the world, to be excited by praise from a super detective.

Mello wasn't pathetic.

"Now. We just wanted to ask you a few questions." Roger mentioned, placing his coffee down on a small stack of papers, "Judging by your current…outfit, you obviously like leather. We supply children with clothing, so you need not worry, but we also like to encourage children to be unique. Do you have anything you need, or want, that will help you evolve into someone different than the rest?"

Mello pondered, managing to come up with only a few things. "I already have a cell phone, paid for by my…family, but I'd like a computer too." He began, "As well as chocolate." He couldn't think of anything else for a moment, until, "Can I have a gun?"

Seeing the disapproving looks coming from both men, he reasoned, "I mean, I can dismantle it, and I'm not asking for bullets, but I feel safer with a gun. Like…a blanket or a teddy bear" He explained, feeling like an idiot.

"Ah. I see. If we tinker with the mechanics of it, we will give you a gun as well." Roger muttered, adding, under his breath, "As long as you don't bludgeon people with it."

Mello beamed.

"Please get the forms to me by tomorrow evening." Roger continued.

"Tomorrow night?" Mello yelped, glancing at the massive stack of paper, "Fuck, this sucks."

"Language."

"…Yeah. Whatever." _Motherfucker._

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By the time Mello found his room again, he was dead tired. He'd called Conrad once he'd left Roger's office. The man had been busy rounding up the hiding men. The conversation had been short, but the man had been shocked by Mello's description of Matt.

"Finally!" He said, "A kid who can match you, as far as non-child-like behavior goes!"

Conrad had laughed, and told him how much everyone missed him, but those missing him didn't count, they had each other. Mello had no one. When he said as such to Conrad, he was met with sad apologies.

He didn't want to hear them.

He'd missed dinner. Fuck.

At least he had chocolate. He found himself in his room in a flash, ignoring the few kids who stopped to gawk at the new kid.

There was a note on his pillow, and low moaning from the other room.

_Mello,_

_I am Mr. Wammy. I regret not being able to properly meet you, but welcome to my home. Your roommate, Matt, is very sick .Some people would most likely disapprove of my telling you, but I feel that you have the right to know, especially since you seem so well informed already. He took quite a few pills before I found them on him, and is currently suffering through withdrawal symptoms. I request that you try to keep him comfortable, and provide him with company. I know that you must be tired, but try to walk a mile in his shoes tonight; he is in a lot of pain._

_-Q. Wammy_

"Fuuuuck." Mello groaned, padding across the floor, and silently slipping into the adjoining room.

If the boy had been bad earlier, he was much worse now. Thankfully, he'd stopped throwing up. He was curled up on the bed, in almost the exact same way he had before, still sweating, still gripping his stomach. He seemed to be overheating, but have Goosebumps, Mello tried to play a game.

A game called 'name that drug.'

He looked at the symptoms: over heating, dilated pupils, Goosebumps, stomach pain…yep, aversion to light too, haha, and his head hurt.

He assumed ecstasy, because it was easy to get, and the boy was burning up, but that was almost impossible to find that clean, most tablets contained another drug as well, like a filler. He tried to guess what it was.

He immediately nixed LSD, ecstasy could often be slightly hallucinogenic, but if the boy had taken a lot lased with acid, his body would probably _still_ be seeing leprechauns and unicorns. He considered dope, cocaine, because of the shivering and the pupils, but that didn't cause Goosebumps. Heroin, then. Had to be. The stupid kid had been taking ecstasy laced with Heroin.

He remembered the day that his father had made him look up symptoms of any drug he could think of, before forcing him to swear to never touch them.

He placed his hand on the boy's chest; the heartbeat was a quick flutter. The boy cringed at the cold touch, opening his bleary eyes, and looking around, writhing on the bed, and breathing harshly.

"Momma?" He asked, "Momma, is that you? Tell—tell the pain to go a—away. M-make i-i-it _stop._"

"I'm not your mother." Mello whispered, smoothing the boy's forehead, this pathetic kid, he looked to be younger than Mello, and thin. He was pitifully frail. Mello felt…protective…?

He'd never once wanted to, let alone been able to, protect anyone. He felt disgusted.

It was because of his father, he told himself, he couldn't help his father, so he wanted to help Matt.

He crossed the room, sitting in a cushioned chair; it would be a long night. He tried to tell himself that he'd watched people suffer before, but here, he found no possible enjoyment in it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mello sat with the red-head all the next day, promising himself that the boy would remember nothing. Normally, it shouldn't have taken this long, for the drug to leave his system, but once the drug _was_ gone, Matt slept. For an entire day.

The next morning, Matt woke. Joy. The boy became depressed, moaning about the loss of his only haven.

_Get over it, bitch._

Moaning.

_Shut-the-fuck-up._

Moaning.

Mello's tired mind couldn't handle it.

"Shut-the-fuck-up!" He yelled at the boy, who was a pathetic heap in the corner of the bed.

Matt looked up. Finally. His eyes were red, his face was blotchy, and he appeared crazed.

"Who is it?" He asked, "Where are my goggles? The orange. I can't see."

_Oh. _So That's why he was wearing goggles. Mello stood, crossed the room, and grabbed the goggles, flinging them at the boy.

The red hair was greasy, as was the boy beneath it; a dirty ball of child, who was currently slipping on goggles, Mello wrinkled his nose. He'd left the chair for two things only since he sat down: To tell the kid across the hall to bring him food, forcibly, and to shower. Mello was an anti-germ zone.

"Who the fuck are you?" The boy croaked.

"That's nice. Maybe you should try being a little more polite."

"Why should I?"

"I don't know. Maybe because your head hurts, and my finger is currently on a light switch." Mello remarked smugly, "And if I flick it, your world, or at least your head, will explode in pain from light exposure."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Can I go to sleep?"

"If you stop moaning."

"Then you'll tell me who you are?"

"Maybe."

"Good enough for me." The boy leaned back, and passed out. Hopefully indefinitely.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mello walked to the door, grinning as he saw the boy from across the hall run by. Mello grabbed him from the back of his carefully pressed sweater. What a prick.

"WHA--GHLHRRPPPHHHGGGGG—"That was the boy. Not Mello. Just to be clear.

"Food and a bowl of broth. A bottle of water and a chocolate bar, if you're smart, you'll make that two chocolate bars and surprise me, fucker." Mello whispered in his ear, before flinging the poor boy down the hall with a resounding, "Go!"

No doubt the boy would be telling his friends about Mello in a matter of moments.

He wasn't nice.

He wasn't fun.

He was not one to cross.

…Sadly, it meant that the chances of ever having 'friends' here, were quickly slimming.

He tried to tell himself that he didn't care.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

**So there's a chapter. Sorry. I tried to edit Mello's language a little, because I don't want to have to raise the rating, but it may, POSSIBLY, become M in later chapters. xD**

**_THAT_ should be interesting to write.  
Uhm...anyways...**

**This chapter is mainly here to show that Mello isn't a robot. HE HAS FEELINGS TOO, even if he won't admit it.**

**Sorry if it sucks. =/**

**PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, REVIEW. If my writing sucks or whatever, I want to KNOW. Thanks a ton!**


	4. Earning A Reputation

**I'M SORRY. I know I promised a nice long chapter, but I needed to add to the story's building blocks.  
I hate having to write such a short chapter, it isn't even 3,000 words! D:**

**Please don't hate me.**

**I PROMISE, I SWEAR TO POSIEDON [Don't ask] That the next chapter will be long and plotish...I guess...  
Please don't shoot me. -cowers in fear- XD**

**DISCLAIMER- I. Own. Nothing. There! Short, sweet, and to the point. :D**

**Enjoy!**

**FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFff**

When Mail woke up, he noticed three things.

The first of which, was his splitting headache, along with the dry feeling of death in his throat.

Next, it was that he was in a place that he had no recollection of ever being in.

As that frightening thought registered in his awareness, his burning eyes fell upon the blond boy, who was currently changing into a leather outfit, in the corner.

_What the fuck?!_

"Uhm…Do I—Know you?" he asked, startling the blond, who jumped, turned, and reached towards his hip, as though it was a reflex, Mail didn't miss the look of annoyance that came when the blond registered that nothing was there.

He'd seen that reflex with his mother's swains. Those that had guns to grab, but this must've been different. The leather-boy was about his age, after all.

"Oh. You've forgotten me. I shall positively die with disappointment!" The blond mocked, "I'm the one who's been nursing you back from the jaws of death, bitch, and I'd appreciate some…appreciation."

"Jaws of death?" Mail snorted, "I'm fi—" He was forced to leave the sentence hanging, when he realized that he did, in fact, feel like shit.

"What happened?" He asked.

"You got too dependant on ecstasy."

"Ecsta-whatnow?"

"The pills. You took too many, but they aren't really good for you. Well, no. Actually, they're quite _bad_ for you. When we tried to take them away, you got sick. You're better now."

The only thing that Mail registered from that sentence was 'tried to take them away.'

"No more…?"

No more.

"But—I-I _need_ them! You can't take them away!"

The blond did not look amused.

"Matt, dearest Matt. I do not like drugs. At all. If you wish, I can get you pictures of the places that they make drugs in, _that_ should curb your fucking 'need.' If not, I can simply tell you that next time, you can suffer the fuck alone." The boy said, speaking in a tone that clearly discouraged objection, "Now. You may call me Mello. You're in luck. That water next to you is yours, so drink it, and I found a nice boy across the hall that just brought some more soup for you!"

Mello grinned.

And grinned.

And grinned.

Before he sighed in exasperation, and left the room.

Mail just gulped the water greedily, and reached for the soup.

Mello returned, with a chocolate bar.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

He groaned, sitting up, gingerly. His memory told him that he was in England, at a place he knew to be called Wammy's house, and that his mother was dead. Everything else was a blur.

He knew that he felt like a piece of shit. His hair was matted with sweat, his skin was greasy, and he probably smelled no better than he looked. He turned his head towards the top of the dresser, where he had a change of clothes, a goodbye present from Jerry. He shakily reached his arm over---

Slap. Ouch.

"No fucking way in hell." Mello, now undeniably the devil in Mail's eyes, had crossed the room in a flash, "There's no point in putting on clean clothes, if you, yourself, are dirty." He scolded, "C'mon. Let's get you out of this shitty bed."

He wanted to argue that it was, actually, a quite comfortable bed, but thought against it, as he tried, and failed, to stand, Mello rushed forward to help him, practically dragging Mail into the bathroom.

"Oh _shit._" He gasped, as Mello promptly placed him into the bath, since standing in a shower was out of the question. As Mail soaked, and Mello grudgingly washed his hair, 'only for the sake of having the fucker clean', there were many times that he caught Mello staring at the side of his face.

"Okay. Stop it. What's with the staring thing?" He said when he was finally fed up with the glances.

"What?" Mello denied, "I wasn't staring at you, I was just thinking."

Mail just waited, watching the boy.

"Fine. I was just…thinking. You're the first kid I've ever met, who didn't _have_ to be nice to me. It's weird."

"Why would people have to be nice to you?"

Wrong question. Mello's face darkened, and went blank. "It's not important. Let's get you dressed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"We need to get you to Roger. I got here on the same day as you, but unlike you, I was capable of walking." Mello laughed, before sneering at Mail, who was crouched beside his bed, blatantly fantasizing about pills.

He then found himself on the floor.

Ow.

"Bitch. Stop with the self-pity act."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He wandered the halls, after receiving hurried instructions from the blond, who had shouted something along the lines of: 'OHMOTHERFUCKIFORGOTTODOTHEFORMS' and then 'MATT, YOU'LLHAVETOGOBYYOURSELF.' Before giving the directions, and vaulting over to the desk to pick up a pen.

_Alright…_ Guess I'm on my own, he thought to himself. _Great._

He was halfway down a really long hallway, he couldn't really walk with speed, his stomach still hurt, but he could at least walk, when there was a noise behind him.

Step. Step. Step.

Footsteps. Mail paused, turning to look, only to come face to face with the ugliest child he'd ever seen.

And the ugly child's posse.

Wonderful.

"Who're you?" Ugly boy piped up, his voice was squeaky and high pitched.

"What a coincidence! I was just about to ask you the same thing! Guess you beat me to the punch!" Mail exclaimed, turning to walk back down the hall.

A hand came down on his shoulder, turning him around, and pushing him to the wall, "I'll show you a punch!"

Hand reeled back. Laughter.

Mail flinched.

Usually it took a lot more sarcasm to warrant being hit, maybe this kid wasn't used to being talked back to.

Why'd people always want to beat him up?

Why wasn't Jerry here? He'd helped last time…

He readied himself for another blow--

"Hey!"

Mello came stomping down the hall, placing the pile of forms, oh whoa that was fast, on the floor, before sliding up to stand beside the ugly boy.

"I just spent days getting this kid all fixed up, and I'm going to be fucking pissed as hell if you break him."

Oh. How kind, Mail considered this as the best chance he had to escape.

"Yeah. I agree."

Mello cast him an annoyed glare.

He decided to just not talk.

"I don't like your tone." Ugly boy whispered, what was he? Reading from a script? What a movie line.

"How convenient. Because I don't like you!" Mello exclaimed, before punching the boy in the nose, grabbing Mail's wrist, and racing down the hall.

No one chased them, as they ran away, laughing. They could hear muffled curses, and the sound of a chaotic scuffle.

Mello stopped him outside of Roger's door, where they both laughed, like maniacs.

"Thank you." He gasped.

"Anytime, Anytime." Mello replied, swinging open the door to reveal an empty office, "Let's just wait."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I look alright, right?"

This was the third time in the past five minutes. Mail had come, unfortunately, in his opinion, to find that his 'roommate' was not only vain, but also obsessive compulsive about his appearance.

They were waiting for Roger to arrive. They'd only finished laughing five minutes ago, and in that five minute period, Mello had tried to examine his youthful face in every reflective surface he could find.

Mail was currently watching the boy try to catch a good angle in a spoon, one that had previously been used to stir coffee.

"You look great." Mail encouraged, bored, "You're really rocking the leather---look."

What a vanity-complex.

"Yeah…I know _that,_ but does my hair look alright?"

"It looks perfect." It actually did, did he spray it with something? It wasn't wild at all.

"Honest?"

"Yep. You're as luminescent as a moonlit---" He was cut off by murmuring in the hallway.

The door swung open, to reveal Roger and Wammy, in deep conversation. Trailing behind them was L, himself, munching happily on a cookie.

Mail enjoyed seeing Mello rush to shove the spoon into the seat that he'd been lounging in.

He felt overjoyed at seeing L, only wanting to rush over and give him a hug. So he did.

"L!" He shrieked, before launching himself at the startled teen, trying his best to act like a young child normally would. He needed innocence on his side, in case L was angry with him.

"Ah! Matt-kun! I'm glad to see you up and about!" L murmured, Mail was dismayed to think that he'd almost forgotten how _weird_ the teenager was.

"Yeah! I'm better now. Apparently…Pills are bad. Who knew?" Mail chirped, Mello snorted, "So I promise to never, ever, ever, try them again!" He declared.

He'd find a way to get more later.

"Lying is bad."

"Don't fucking bullshit us, bitch."

L and Mello spoke at the same time.

Obviously, Mello was more obscene.

Obviously.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mail had to go through all of the testing that Mello had, groaning often, and trying his best. His mother deserved a son who tried his best.

Mello just stared at the wall, waiting for Roger to read through the forms.

By the time L was done evaluating the test, Roger'd finished the forms, and both boys sat down, waiting for the verdict.

"Matt-kun! You scored only one point below Mello-kun, congratulations, you are both doing very well."

"Mello. The only complaint I have with the forms, is on the customization of your computer software. You could have used nicer terms, when expressing your lack of interest in the matter."

"Whatever."

Mail sighed in relief. He did fine on his test.

"Mello, you may go to your room to get something that interests you. We will need Matt's forms by the end of the night, so you may as well return with something, for you will have to wait."

Mail watched the blond leave without a word. What put a stick up his ass?

"Matt." Roger began, "We are sorry for your mother's death, and the series of misfortunes that lead you here. We do, however, have some questions about your personal preferences."

"You should say that you are sympathetic for his mother's death. You had no hand in it, so you can not be sorry for it. You can feel sorrow, but not remorse." L cut in.

"Humph."

"Shoot." Me now, he added to the statement in his head.

"We will provide for your clothes, but we do request that you specify a few more items, that you want, or need, which we can also provide you with."

Mail thought about it. What did he want?

_Pills._

Not a chance.

Uhm…

"Video games. A gaming system, and games. And orange tinted prescription swim goggles, in case I lose these." He considered briefly, "I don't really want anything else."

_Except for drugs._

Shut up, brain!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

By the time Mello returned, toting an outrageous amount of chocolate, Mail was already halfway through the forms.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Eating chocolate was loud.

And so motherfucking annoying.

He was sure that he spent more time on the computer page than Mello did, he almost had to ask for a separate sheet of paper, his specifications were so long.

Crunch. Crunch.

They had things for him to sign, and things for him to check, or answer, or evaluate.

He stifled a yawn.

There! Done!

He stood, joints popping, and handed the pile to Roger, just in time for the door to slam open.

"They're in here! Roger! Roger, open up!" _Shit._

In the doorway was ugly boy, and four of his friends, Mail wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, or hide.

Each sported injuries, most from the scuffle that occurred after Mail and Mello had departed, but the black eye on the ugly boy's face must have been what had Mello looking so smug.

"L! Roger! Mr. Wammy! Look at what they _did!_"

"We had to go to the infirmary!"

"It's all they're fault!"

Tattle-tales. Cry-babies. Losers.

Matt found these insults unable to properly describe the boys.

Stupid fucking pieces of shit. Bitches.

Those were slightly better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After the boys, and Mello had finished battling it out, Matt had stayed silent, they'd been punished, and sent to their rooms.

Great.

The boys had lost computer privileges, as a punishment from L, and had been confined to the house by Roger and Wammy, for a period of two months, for antagonizing the 'new additions'.

Matt and Mello, who had previously planned to start classes in a week, would start Monday.

Tomorrow was Monday.

Ew, Matt thought to himself.

"Couldn't you have just let him hit me?" He asked

Mello turned sharply, to glare at him. They'd returned to their rooms by now, and were preparing for the next day of school.

"Isn't it obvious? I needed something to hit, and he was in my way. I've spent almost a week turning you as normal as I can. I didn't want to have wasted my time." He stated, continuing, "If you'd like _me_ to hit you, I'd be happy to oblige you."

"Just go to bed."

"That's what I thought."

**RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR**

**A/N-**

**There! Not so bad!**

**You didn't die! Hopefully...**

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**Please. I beg you.**

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	5. First Day

**Hey. I know, I know. Not TOO long..AGAIN. **

**-shoots self-**

**I'm really very sorry, but I've decided to write moderate lengthed chapters instead of crazy long ones, since obviously, crazy long ones don't WANT to be written.**

**.**

**As per usual, I own NOTHING. At all. Not a bit of it. Which is sad. But true. OH. WAIT. I HAVE A GREEN BANDANNA, WHICH YOU WON'T UNDERSTAND UNTIL YOU READ THE CHAPTER, BUT I DO OWN THAT! ...I wish I owned more...**

**OH WHATEVER. JUST READ IT...And then click the spiffy green button and type a sentence about how amazing I AM....I mean the story...talk about how much you like the story.**

**If you like it...**

**I hope you like it... =/**

**WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW**

Mello woke up.

And looked at the clock.

And swore.

The gleaming, cherry red, glaring numbers on his alarm clock read 3:17 AM.

Fuck. Okay. He never woke up in the middle of the night.

Ever.

He assessed the problem. Lights are off. There is one open escape route.

All is quie---Noise. There was a noise coming from Matt's room. That was his escape option.

The idea that Matt might be awake never occurred to him. As quietly as he could, he leapt from his bed, scrabbling for the gun he didn't have.

Fuck.

Plan B. Listen. He froze.

"Momma?" Someone moaned, "Momma, I dreampt. You were dead!"

It was…Matt. Talking to himself.

He was sleeping.

"It was so sad, Momma. They made me go away. But I must have---wait. Why're you bleeding? You did that last…Momma? Don't sleep. You went to sleep last---MOMMA. MOMMA!"

Fuck. He was yelling. With a jolt, Mello realized that Matt's mom had died just last week, when Mello had had a bit longer to get used to the idea of having no parents.

Matt was sobbing in his sleep, as Mello stood in the doorway, frozen.

How'd the woman die? He might never know.

Hesitantly, he took a step. "Matt?" He called, quietly, "Matt. It's only a dream."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Next thing he knew, he was waking up in Matt's bed.

_Mello. Does. Not. Sleep. With. Other. People._

_Ever._

Then, he made the mistake of looking down at Matt's tear-stained face. The face that had looked up at him in hysterics, hands clinging to his black, oversized T-shirt. Matt had looked so pitifully fragile, and he'd just _had_ to comfort---No. The only reason that he had allowed Matt to 'cuddle', was because the faster Matt got over the nightmares, the faster Mello himself, would get sleep.

That was the _only_ reason.

He didn't want a friend. He wouldn't even know how to treat a friend. He was a mafia boss.

He didn't _do_ the whole 'friendship' thing.

Antisocial would have to be his motto today during classes. _Classes! _

"SHIT. Matt! Get up!" He yelled, shaking the boy, "Matt! School. Up. NOW."

Matt got up. Good.

The boy had been lucky that that dick wipe's punch last night hadn't given him a bruise.

Mello didn't want to have to make Matt unlucky. He would've if Matt had stayed asleep. He would have.

He glanced at the clock. He didn't like Matt's clock anymore than he liked his.

Why did clocks only ever bear bad news?

Ten minutes. He was dressed and already fluffing his hair in five. His lazy ass roommate was just pulling on his jeans.

"Hurry up, fucker." Who said he _had_ to edit his language?

"You're catholic?" was the reply. Damn fucker though _that_ would stop Mello from swearing? He just fingered his rosary, putting it on, and putting his father's red one on over it.

"My dad was. I guess I am too, by inheritance." It wouldn't make sense to Matt, not as it did to Mello. What was his is now mine, he'd realized, even religion.

"C'mon!" He reminded the red head, "Class, Class!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Their classrooms were exactly across the hall from each other, which was good, since only Mello knew where they were going, and because it was a Monday, their entire class day was independent study.

In the same room, for the whole day.

So why bother making them come?

Mello had argued with Roger for a full fifteen minutes over it the night before, but all he'd gotten was 'make new friends.'

Bullshit.

They were early, which was just as Mello planned. He left Matt, to go sit in the front of his half-filled classroom. He wanted to be noticed.

After approximately ten seconds, he was fishing through a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips, which he'd brought with him to class, for a big chip, giving up, and then just popping a large handful into his mouth, sighing in bliss.

Chocolate never got old.

He couldn't see into Matt's room, but he wondered how the boy was doing, probably in the back of the classroom, probably staring blankly at a wall. Probably wondering if he'd be able to find any child-friendly drug traffickers in the wealthy orphanage.

Stupid fuck.

Anywho, Mello took in the batch of freaks who'd entered just moments ago, most with oddly dyed hair, or strange outfits, most about his age.

He crunched more chocolate, almost done with the chocolate chips already. Good thing he'd brought his chocolate bag with him. He'd be mad without it.

He regretted his tight outfit, which forced him to carry the chocolate in a bag, instead of pockets, the only thing he'd managed to squeeze into the clothes, was himself, and his cell phone, of course, which occupied his only pocket.

"Aren't your clothes kind of…asking for it? I mean…for a little girl, can't be more than seven, who gave you leather like that?" A voice leered from behind him, "You're new, ain't you, sweetheart?"

One of the older children was talking to him. Fuck, the dick had called him a _girl._

Mello didn't deem the remark worth a response.

"C'mon. Who are you? I'm curious, sweetie."

Mello waited.

"Girl. What's your name?"

And waited.

_There._ The boy had made the mistake of letting his fingers trail down Mello's arm, who took the advantage happily.

"Don't fuck with me." He grabbed the offending hand forcefully, grinding his thumbnail between the tendons in the wrist, drawing blood.

The older boy's face paled, and the room quieted slightly. Mello drew the elder in close, nail still embedded in the boy's wrist, until his lips were at the boy's ear.

"I'm. Not. A. Girl, fucker."

As he expected, the no longer curious boy let him sit down, and fish out a white chocolate bar in peace. He put his boots up on the desk.

He could've done worse.

But why make a bad impression?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mello was standing.

In front of a group of orphans.

'Introducing himself.'

"I'm Mello." He said, straightening his back, "I'm from Russia. I like chocolate…"

Name, check. Home country, check. Favorite food, check. What were the other prompts again? Oh. Right.

"I'm Catholic. I don't like other children."

Fun fact, check. Dislike, check.

He sniggered inwardly, as he glanced out the door, and saw Matt, at the front of his room, not even bothering with introductions, and instead, staring at the floor.

Mello had done his best to sound bitter and unfriendly, so why were they analyzing him, eyes skimming up and down, blatantly making assumptions?

"Uhm, thank you, Mello. Does anyone have any questions for Mello, before he takes a seat?"

Almost every hand shot up into the air, in fact, every hand but one, that which belonged to a small white haired boy, who was playing with a toy airplane.

"Mello," the exasperated teacher said, "You may call on your peers."

Then the idiot went back to his coffee. Stupid motherfucking teacher.

Wait. That word couldn't be used here, he couldn't call the man a motherfucker. No one he associated with had a mother. Mello pondered this for a moment, whatever, he liked the word. Motherfucker…had a nice ring to it.

"Er…right. Green…bandanna thing kid."

"Why'd you choose Mello?"

"Choose?"

"Yeah. Why'd you choose it? It's kind of weird." A tiny hand pointed to the board, where M-E-L-L-O was written, "And you spelled it weird. Why?"

"I didn't choose it."

"So…it's your birthname?"

"No."

"So you chose it before you came?"

"Yeah. Why would I choose a new name when I came?"

"Oh. We all do. It's like…When you come here, they make you choose an alias. You aren't supposed to tell people your real name."

"Okay…Well I got Mello before I got here. I'm not going to explain it. So don't ask." He grumbled, "You." He pointed to another kid.

"What's Russia like?"

"Cold." He answered, already turning to another child, "You."

It went from there. For hours. As if they _needed _to know everything about him, several times Mello looked to the teacher to make it stop, to halt the flow of questions, but the bastard was playing solitaire on his computer.

Motherfucker.

"Can this end?" A voice deadpanned, "I would like to concentrate on my block tower, and for that, I would prefer a more docile setting."

Mello looked past the group, to the white haired boy from before, who was crouched on the ground, with a steadily growing pile of white blocks before him.

"Ah. Yes. Look at the time!" the teacher exclaimed, "You have an hour until lunch. Use the time wisely to study for future examinations!"

Mello fell into his seat, and proceeded to lounge, tilting his chair back on its legs, crunching happily on chocolate. He'd successfully answered most of their questions as vaguely as possible. They knew almost nothing about him, but for their assumptions.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_BRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGGGG._

The bell tolled for lunch at exactly noon, alerting every orphan in the building, that they may go eat, and be free, for an hour, before they must return to classes.

Mello knew this because it had been on one of the forms he'd had to fill out. It had been about favorite foods, and he'd just written: Chocolate, in the 'other: _________' space.

He headed straight down to the 'cafeteria' which was a large room, filled with wooden tables, and wooden chairs. A lot of stuff here was wooden.

Mello settled for chocolate pudding.

He surveyed the room, and ended up with one option, Matt.

The boy was sitting alone, with a glass of water and a small sandwich.

Staring up at the ceiling. His hand was shaking, but Mello chalked it up to a lack of 'happy pills.'

"I'm sitting here."

Matt didn't bother looking up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt was just finishing his sandwich, which consisted of bread and cheese, to Mello's distaste, when the entire room fell silent.

Mello was only half way through his giant bowl of chocolate pudding, when he looked up, disturbed by the quiet. Even Matt glanced around.

L had entered.

This, apparently was an anomaly.

Even stranger, was the fact that the teen was striding, quite purposefully, towards Mello and Matt.

Mello decided to slice the tension in the room.

"MONOTONE!" He cried from his seat, turning his chair towards the shuffling detective slightly.

"Hello, Mello." The teen said quietly, patting Matt absently on the head.

Mello glared at the rhyme.

"I just received a telephone call from your friend Conrad."

"Why didn't he call me?"

"He had a task for me."

"Is this going to require us to talk in private? If he's asking for your help on anything…" Mello whispered, looking pointedly around the eavesdropping room, "I'll skin that man if he's making---us---sink that low."

"No, no." the detective hurriedly explained, "he did ask something of me, but I don't think that it's what you have in mind."

"Spill it."

"He told me that I must watch as you go and get something green, and preferably leafy, because all that you will eat of your own voilition was chocolate." L mumbled, "Apparently, he was right."

"Fucker." Mello muttered under his breath, not at all enjoying the look of suppressed glee on Matt's impish face.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He'd chosen broccoli, but the asshole detective hadn't budged until Mello had eaten practically an entire head of it.

Matt had sworn that it had only been a few pieces, but he'd quickly changed his mind with a little help.

From Mello.

The red head had been sour for the rest of lunch, after the detective had whispered something into Matt's ear.

Mello got the message when he heard the words: 'drugs,' 'none,' and 'but you can try looking fruitlessly for them.'

Thus, the boy was blatantly distressed.

Mello was amused.

He'd returned to class, somewhat grudgingly, only to be stared at. For two hours.

He had an hour left until he was allowed to go back to his room, when he cracked.

"What the fuck are you all looking at?"

Anyone who _hadn't_ been looking at him, now was.

"Uhm—Mello…" The teacher began.

"You were talking to L!" A girl in the back exclaimed, "He hardly ever visits, and when he does, he doesn't really talk to any of us! Bu—but he j-j-just walked up t-t-to you!"

"So?" Mello sighed, "I had a conversation with the guy. It's not like we're best friends. I'm what, nine or so years younger than him. I don't want friends. L's more like…a friendly enemy."

"Enemy?"

"You're not going to get an explanation, so don't try for one." He warned.

Then they just went back to staring.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You need to eat vegetables." Conrad explained to a furious Mello, over the phone.

"Fuck that." Came the youthful voice over the other end.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Holy shit."

That was all he could say.

He'd walked back to his room with Matt.

Not because he wanted to. They just…happened to be going to the same place.

That's _all._

But when they got there, it was heaven. Everything they'd asked for was waiting.

The entire room layout had been rearranged. There were still two adjoining rooms, but now one of them contained two beds, as well as a small TV, while the other contained a large flat screen with an x-box and a wii, as well as two bean bags, a shelf filled with chocolate, as well as one filled with games.

"No fucking WAY." Matt shouted, "how do they afford all of this stuff?"

Mello was too preoccupied to answer, on his beanbag, as beautiful as could be, there was a gun. He knew that it wouldn't shoot, but he could _hold_ it. It was almost identical to his old one, he trailed his small hands over it in appreciation.

Then there was the note. On a small sheet of white paper.

Another note from Q. Wammy.

_Mello and Matt, _

_I trust that your first day has gone well._

_We have refinished your rooms to suit your tastes._

_This orphanage is to be a sanctuary for you._

_Usually, however, we would not throw around_

_the type of money that we have for you two._

_This is because you two have scored at the top_

_In your entrance examinations._

_Mello was second, Matt was third._

_There is but one student ranked above you._

_Congratulations!_

_Q. Wammy._

Underneath that…astonishing note, was a shorter one, in more precise scrawl.

**M & M**

**I must be off to work on a case today.**

**I will be back within a few months.**

**Under this note is $100 dollars worth of clothes money for each of you.**

**Goodbye.**

**L**

They found two new one hundred American dollar bills under the paper.

Matt was ecstatic, holding the bill, which he'd seen around before, but never held, and Mello remembered the bills from stacked they'd gotten after a hit.

"Fuck. Now we have to have it changed over to pounds." Matt groaned, soon to be elbowed.

While Matt was wheezing, holding his offended side, Mello took the opportunity to correct him.

"It was nice of him. He's probably in America now, anyway..."

He wasn't impressed though, which was odd for a six year old, but Mello had had been surrounded by millions in his few short years, one hundred dollars didn't impress him.

It obviously impressed Matt.

Mello however, was more interested in the chocolate, some of which had come from as far as South America.

"Okay." Mello mumbled around a new bar, "This place is _almost_ cooler than the ma---The place I came before this."

"This place is _way_ cooler than home. My—My mother would have loved it."

"Who wouldn't love it?"

"I see your point."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"_Mello, we need to go." There were frightened faces all around him._

"_Not yet. Not yet." He whispered, "They deserve to die for this."_

"_We need to get out. You heard the man on the phone!"_

"_They can't just come in here and take my home. I'll kill them all first." His voice disturbed him; he was standing, alone, all of a sudden, alone._

"_Conrad? Right hand! Come here! Dad? Dad?!" _

_There were people rushing at him. They carried guns with them, one of the men came into focus, the rest were a blur._

_Mello shot him._

_That man. That man! Mello killed him, shot him through the head, blood was everywhere._

_His own hands were soaked in it, as he sat, the man in his small lap._

_The dead face turned into his father's. The corpse was rotting, gray and slack, it's eyes opened._

_He screamed until the ground fell away, voices accused him with his own alias._

"_Mello. Mello. You're nothing like your father. He was a good man. Mello. Mello. Mello…"_

"Mello. Mello? Wake up. It's just a nightmare." Mello clung to that voice.

"Matt! Matt! It didn't happen like that! It didn't happen like that!"

"I tried to stop—with my dad, and that man---he was taking my hom—"

"Shhh, I know, Mello." Matt whispered, rubbing his back, "I know. Calm down."

"My name." Mello gasped, "My name's Mihael."

"Mell—"

"Please. I'm Mihael. I'm not---I don't deserve Mello. Please? At least sometimes? Mihael Keehl."

"Why're you so—"

"I need to be myself." He whispered, voice cracking, "I can't be Mello all the time."

"Okay. Mihael. I guess I can…I can share too."

"What?"

"It's nice to meet you Mihael Keehl, I'm Mail Jeevas."

**UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU**

**Ooooooohhhhhhh...NAMES.**

**I know... I know... Sort of an annoying ending.**

**You can kill me for it.**

**But once you do, please review! [that rhymed]**

**YAY.**


	6. Beeping Noises

**Okay, people.  
Can I just mention that I love each and every one of you, especially if you review? Because I do. I love you. A lot. o.o**

**I'm REALLY sorry that this chapter is so late/not up to my usual standards! The length of this chapter disgusts me, and if I had time, I would fix it...But I don't.**

**I'm going to camp tomorrow, and I really wanted to get this out, you won't be hearing from me for THREE-AND-A-HALF WEEKS. **

**I'm going to DIE.**

**I'll write more chapters while at camp, but I won't be able to post them, so look forward to a bunch when I get home!**

**I have a friend who's going to mail me stuff from here, so don't panic, but it'll take a while, and I might not get to respond to your reviews...[If I get any] until I get home.**

**THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT YOU SHOULDN'T REVIEW. I look forward to your comments, as well as critisism.**

**DISCLAIMER- I don't own Death Note...at all...This plot-ish thing came from my minnnnnndddddd...**

**3 Read on!**

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"For the love of _God_. Matt. Wake the hell _up._"

What?

"Matt."

"Wha—"

"Mail."

"Yeah?"

"Get up."

"Wha---"

"_Get up now._"

"Yes, Mello."

It had begun routine to be woken like this. Well, in the few days that Matt had been there.

After the other night, when Mello told him his name, he'd begun to drag him everywhere, making him eat, sleep, and go to class, when he might otherwise object.

Matt just wanted to play his games, and crave his pills.

Neither of those were Mello-friendly options.

He rolled out of bed, as Mello grumbled at Him. Something about: _goodfornothingidiotswhocan'twakethemselvesuporactlikenormalhumanbeings._

Whatever. Let him mumble to himself. He'll only end up looking stupid when the other kids think he's schizophrenic, Matt noted to himself, not even bothering to put on clothes.

He'd totter down to breakfast in his footie pajamas, they were red and black striped, and they made him look young and adorable.

Unlike his feminine roommate, who makes a point of always looking like one of those people in the magazines that he always used to find next to the toilet when men were visiting his mother.

Ouch.

Apparently he'd said that thought out loud.

Double ouch.

Yep. Definitely said that out loud.

"Fucking hell! Mello, stop hitting me every time I say one little thing!"

"Stop thinking out loud."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Breakfast was different every day. Today, it was pancakes.

Matt got himself blueberry.

Mello got chocolate chip.

Matt still couldn't figure out where the boy _put_ it all! Mello was stick thin, a tiny six year old boy. So how on earth could the boy eat nothing but chocolate?

And he definitely only ate chocolate, Matt was almost always with him,

Why would he _want_ to?

Matt couldn't wrap his brain around it, and he was supposedly the third smartest child here. Smarter than even seventeen year olds, smarter, even, than forty year old men.

Not as smart as Mello, but he was smart. So, he thought, how was it possible? Matt had never seen him eat anything that wasn't at least half chocolate.

Hell! The boy was pouring chocolate syrup over his plate by the gallons!

Okay…maybe not gallons, but…No. It's definitely gallons.

"Bitch. What do you want?"

"Huh?"

"You've been watching me eat for the past five minutes."

"Oh."

"…"

"So what do you want?"

"Nothing." Matt mumbled, "Just wondering how the whole 'IMUSTHAVECHOCOLATE' thing came about."

That comment earned him a glare.

"Someone gave me a bar. And I liked it."

"Wow. I never would have guessed."

"Shut up."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They'd developed a routine, in the few days that they'd been together, or at least for the few days that they'd been consciously together. Besides the few, well-placed quips from Mello about drug addiction and 'happy pills' they tried not to mention Matt's 'issue'. The routine was hardly even in Matt's opinion, but giving Mello more responsibility didn't seem to faze him.

He seemed to prefer it. He planned to coast along at second place. He had some sort of anger, towards everyone, but concentrated on L. The detective. The one who 'saved' them.

Matt, frankly, wondered about how happy he was here, compared to anywhere else.

He had a feeling that Mello wondered too.

Sometimes the blond would sit there, and just stare at the wall. He was always more into the routine after that. He got this look in his eyes. Matt couldn't tell if the boy needed control, or a distraction.

They filled the needs of the other perfectly, technically. Mello always did more. But that was one of his needs.

Mello woke Matt up.

Matt got him chocolate.

Mello made Matt partake in usual childhood activities.

Mello dragged Matt outside.

Mello used Matt to vent.

Matt let him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"My classes are so boring."

"Mmmmmhhhmmmmm…"

"And there's this annoying boy in my class. All he does is play with his motherfucking toys. He acts like he knows everything."

"Really?…"

"Seriously! He reminds me of L, stupid fucker, everyone loves him, too!"

"I see…"

"Oh! Can I play with you? Yay! You got the answer right!" Mello mocked, in a singsong voice, "Am I the only one who sees the smug look he gives off when people fawn all over him?"

"Probably…Ow!"

"Go away, Fucker."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt sat in his classroom, staring at the clock.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

There were five minutes. Five minutes until the weekend. Five minutes until he'd be out of his classes, and free to explore the surrounding towns, as well as the mansion.

Matt had been dismayed to find a lack of time, in the house.

He still had massive amounts of trouble finding things, oh, right, another thing that Mello did.

Mello kept him from getting lost.

He had no sense of direction.

Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnggggggggggg….

Matt was already out the door.

"Mello!" He shrieked, spotting the dot of blond hair, "Mello! We're freeeeeee!" He laughed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"_You_ are." Mello spoke, easing a superior tone into his voice, "_I _am going to take a nap."

"Oh. Okay then…"

"Bye." And with that, the sharp-eyed boy turned down the hall.

Matt stood outside the classroom, as orphans filed out, laughing and talking at their friends. He was alone.

Why was he always alone?

"Mom?" He whispered, "Momma, why'd you leave me?"

He sighed, his frail frame shivered once, and with that, he turned down the hall, wiping a single tear from where it had pooled at the base of his goggles.

He found himself, crouched in the library, reading up on Russian hackers, he figured he'd fit right in with them.

"Hello?" A bored voice called, he looked around quickly, wishing that he had his gameboy, but it had run out of batteries. It wasn't as easy to distract him when he had a game.

"Yes?" He replied, the boy in front of him looked about a year younger, holding a toy robot.

"You seem bored, but the book that you are holding seems interesting, I was wondering if you would summarize its contents for me." The boy reminded him of L, wearing all white. Was the hair _bleached_ that way?

With a jolt, Matt realized that this must be who Mello didn't like.

"Ah…Right…Okay." Matt stuttered, "It's about these people in Russia who hack into computers, they start really young, too! Like only a little older than us!" Matt exclaimed, getting more and more excited as he explained.

"Do they do these things willingly?"

"Some of them do, some don't know why they're doing it, but some of them want to! Look at this boy!" He laughed, "He's just around thirteen, and he's already fuc—screwing up the world's computers. They steal, and they're rich!"

Matt found himself dismayed to find himself needing to edit his language for the young boy; Mello was rubbing off on him.

"That's quite astounding. Evil people, thieves are. Stealing from others who have earned the money."

"Oh…right…"

"Would you like to join me, in playing with this robot? It is new, and it makes beeping noises. I find it quite entertaining."

"You know what? Yeah. I'd like that."

**WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW**

**Like it? Hate it?**

**I won't know unless you review! **

**xoxo**


	7. Climbing Trees

**Okay. I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK. XD Camp was...fun...  
This was a tough chapter to get out. I kept feeling like it had a million flaws, and I kept going back to fix things, until I decided to screw it.**

**It's late. And I wan't to get this out. You guys don't mind, do you? I hope not. I was SO HAPPY with the amount of reviews.  
I didn't get to reply to them all this time, but next time, I SWEAR that I will. Promise. :3**

**I'm really sorry about the wait for this chapter. It's not my best, but it gears up for the next few chapters. =/ **

**Hope you like it...**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Death Note. =///**

**ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ**

"For the last time, I'm fine!"

Laughter.

"You don't have to worry about me."

Laugh—

"Stop it. No. They won't let me. Yep. They actually care. It makes me miss…Yeah."

Pause.

"It was way worse than you can ever imagine…I was incoherent for a week…Yeah. It never really goes away, does it?"

Pause.

"I'd do it if I could, but I can't find any, it's like they drug-proofed the whole place before I came."

Pause.

"Mello would kill me. Yep….Not exactly. He's nice to _me_. He'd bitch a fit if he caught me using."

Laughter.

"Exactly. Okay. Yep. Stay out of trouble, Jerr. Bye."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So. Who's the fucker named Jerr?"

"_Who?"_

Jerr. The boy I heard you chit chatting about drugs with, motherfucker, Mello raged in his head, Calm. Calm, Mello, calm.

"Jerr."

"Oh. Right. Just a…friend, I guess. Why?" Matt was fidgeting, fingering his goggles nervously.

Shit. Can't admit to eavesdropping…

"I...um…heard you say bye to him earlier." Mello grabbed the gun, and began taking it apart. He was working on making it work again. They'd dismantled the trigger, but if he fixed it, all he would need were bullets…Not that he'd be using it…

"Really?" Matt mumbled, eyeing him warily, "That's all?"

No. "Yep."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mello! Let's go outside!" The blond was shocked to find the boy throwing his game onto the bed, and changing his shirt.

"Why?"

"It's sunny. I want to climb a tree. It's boring in here. You'll get early wrinkles if you study anymore."

"Matt. I'm almost seven. You _can't_ get wrinkles this early."

"_You_ will. Stop reading. You don't even _care_ about these classes."

"I care enough to want to stay number two. This is so out of character for you."

"I love being outside."

"How unexpected." Mello's voice turned bland, as he turned back to his book.

"Mihael." There was ice in Matt's voice. "We're going outside."

And for once, Wammy's was privileged with the sight of a scantily clad blond, meekly trailing behind a carrot-topped gamer.

On the way to the door, Mello found himself realizing that maybe climbing a few trees wouldn't be so bad, but he was Mello, and it was his nature to _at least_ _sound_ contrary.

"I hope you fucking fall."

"Of course you do, Mello."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"We've been here a month." Mello stated, the next morning, it was a Sunday, and they were back at the top of a pine tree.

"Really? Seems like it's been shorter."

"Technically." Mello explained, "You were half dead the first week or so, then we started classes, and we've been here two weeks after that, I've been second since we got here." He mentioned, with pride.

"What do you want to do when you leave?"

"That's in just about eleven years, bitch."

"Still. Do you ever think about it?"

All the time. "Not really." I'll be a killer. I've killed people before. I'm the leader of the mafia in Russia.

Suddenly, Mello found himself edging farther down the branch, wanting to put space in between them. Mail was too innocent.

"I'm not sure either. My mom wanted me to be the best I can be…I'm not sure how to do that."

They both shifted uncomfortably. Without realizing it, the conversation was bordering on the past.

"I'm not—"Mello began, "Wait…Is that, shit!?"

He spotted a black car in the distance, Matt turned to follow his gaze.

"Ewww..." Mello whined, "The fucker's back!"

"L!" Matt shouted, as he began leaping down the branches, "Mello! C'mon!"

"I'll stay."

His—friend stumbled a bit as he leapt to the ground, and Mello suddenly felt incredibly lonely, watching the boy race across the grounds, to do a flying leap at the detective, who surprisingly caught the boy, swinging him around.

Mello turned away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"L wants you in Roger's office."

"_What the fuck."_

It was the middle of the night. Matt was asleep next to him, and the boy from across the hall was peering at him in the dark, clearly terrified at having to wake Mello up.

"I'm just doing as he says. He says it's important."

"Fuck. _Now?"_

"Um..." The boy began, but a furious Mello was already stalking down the hall, wearing just a pair of leather pants and a crucifix.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"L! What the fuck do you want?!"

"Mello. It seems that there is some urgent news."

The blond had stopped short, as he saw the mafia members in the room. All ten members of his personal guard were standing in the room, circled around L.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Mello was satisfied to see them flinch. Here he was worried that Matt was making him soft.

"Conrad called us. He told us to come get you. He said you'd understand. We assumed that he must have called—"The man was silenced with the raise of Mello's hand.

"What does he want?"

"He told us to take you back to Russia until you decide to leave."

"Fuck. Why?"

"He told us to tell you that he needs your help with 'finding the rat'"

"He already has a lead?"

"Yes."

"Fuck." His mind was racing. He had to go. If Conrad needed his help with it, more that this was something for the head of the Mafia to do, Conrad didn't have support. He needed to pretend that Mello was a pawn, obviously. He'd need to pretend to be a cover. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Matt. Oh, fuck.

"L, give me some paper. Now, fucker, now!"

"Language, please." The detective scolded as he handed Mello a piece of paper.

"And a pen! God, for the world's 'best' detective, I'd think you'd be capable of a motherfucking inference." Mello growled, "Why would I want just a piece of paper?!"

"Origami?"

Mello ignored the unusually placed joke.

_Matt._

_I'll be back as soon as I can._

_Don't worry._

_Try to make some fucking friends._

_Sorry. That was harsh…_

_Okay. Rambling._

_See ya!_

_Mello…_

He turned to a slim woman with scarred hands. Go pack my stuff. Now. Put this on the bedside table." He handed her his scribbled note, "There will be a boy sleeping in there. If you wake him up, I'll come up with an incredibly creative way for you to die."

She gulped, nodded, and left.

"Mello, I would prefer if you would not make death threats, especially not in my home, and in front of me. I tend to try to discourage that kind of behavior."

"Fuck off." Mello groaned, irritated, "and if you even think about telling Matt where I am…"

He was having trouble thinking of something to use against L.

"Just don't tell him."

"As you wish."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning, he arrived at the headquarters, satisfied by his new leather, his new chocolate, and his new gun.

It felt good to be bad. Mello had gotten used to not being bad.

The driver got out of the car, and came around to open the door for Mello, offering him a hand.

"Do you know who I am?" Mello asked.

The man nodded.

"Who am I?"

The driver peered at him quizzically, clearing his throat. "You're…the boss…?"

"Exactly." Mello swatted the offered hand away, "Then I like to think I can get out of a car by myself."

"Sorry."

"Whatever." The boy peered around, "CONRAD!"

"Right here." The man answered, coming out of the door, he looked incredibly relaxed, almost happy, it caught Mello's attention, but he shrugged it off, assuming the man was glad to see him.

"This dump looks like a warehouse."

"It is."

"Then why am I here."

"Because it's big enough to fit all of us, it's abandoned, and it's a prime location. It's pretty nice inside."

"Whatever. I don't even fucking care."

The inside _was_ pretty nice. There were huge metal grates, and each side had a long counter filled with computers. The smell of smoke met his nose, and he could hear typing and laughter.

"Someone find me a chair." He commanded.

Every single face turned to stare at him. He raised his gun.

"Good God. I've been gone a month. When I ask for a chair, I mean that I want a motherfucking chair." He smirked as a man hurried to give up his chair.

He swung his hips as he went to perch on the seat.

"Mello!?!" He turned at the sound of his voice.

"John!"

Suddenly without realizing what was happening, he was swung up into a bear hug by the man who gave him his first chocolate bar.

"How are you, boy? We've missed your spirit here! Conrad's been keepin' us all on our toes!"

Suddenly, in the kind man's grip, Mello actually felt like a young boy, instead of a genius, or a boss.

"I'm great! I missed you guys a lot too! How are you? I'm glad to be back in Russia, I missed it here."

John ruffled his hair.

"We're great! Trust me; Russia must have missed you too. This is the first warm day we've had in a while."

"I'm glad. England gets so cold."

"How is it there?" John guided him back to his seat, pulling a stool up next to the chair.

So Mello told him, as the mafia worked on, laughing and joking. Mello told him about the classes, and the kids, he mentioned Near, and 'Ryuuzaki', he talked of the house, and the food, his room, and…his roommate.

"This Matt boy sounds nice."

"He is. Stupid fucker's my best friend."

"Stupid? That doesn't seem like a nice way to refer to a friend."

Mello blushed. "He's not really…stupid. He's ranked just below me."

"Ranked?"

"We're ranked by intelligence."

"Ah. I remember. You said this Near boy was ranked first."

"Yep." Mello wanted to smirk as John fidgeted, obviously wanting to ask about Mello's rank, but not wanting to offend, in case it was low. Indecision was written all over the man's face.

"Matt's third." Mello hinted.

John's eyes widened. "So that makes you…"

"Second."

"Out of..?"

"Several hundred."

"How old…"

"You leave when you're eighteen." Mello smirked.

John's eyebrows were nearly at his hairline, they were raised so high.

"So that makes you…"

John didn't even bother finishing the question before he lifted a laughing Mello like a football, and running him around the room, shouting, "A Genius!! He's a genius!"

They were both out of breath when John finally put Mello down.

The room stared at them. In shock. At John's behavior. At their boss's intelligence, and at the fact that Mello was _letting_ someone treat him this way.

Mello yanked a chocolate bar out of his belt, snapped a corner off, and cocked his gun.

"Good God! I don't like being stared at. Get back to work."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night, he had a nightmare.

_He was alone in the old headquarters; he looked down to see blood in a trail, behind him, all over the floor._

_With a jolt, he realized that it was his. He was bleeding out of several gunshot wounds._

_He screamed for help. There wasn't anyone there. It felt like the walls were screaming at him._

_His mind filled with noise. Die. Die. Die. _

_He stumbled to a window, peering out, his reflection turned into his father's._

"_You won't go to heaven. You'll never see me again. You're a cold-blooded murderer."_

"_No. No! I'm not! I'm not!"_

"I'm not!"

He woke with a start, gasping for breath. He had nightmares often, and as usual, he reached out, but his hand grasped at sheets.

Of course Matt wasn't here.

Mello got out of bed, grabbing a chocolate bar, and leaving his room. He slipped out into the main room, watching several people, faces illuminated by the glow of computers, as they hacked accounts and broke down firewalls.

He needed to take his mind off of his sleep. He slid up to the chair of a man who looked as though he would doze off at any second.

"Excuse me."

The man jolted upright. "Sorry! I'll be done soon. I'll just get some coffee. I _never_ fall asleep! I just—"

"Chill. Chill." Mello chuckled, "No problem. What time is it?"

"The man peered at his watch."

"Almost four in the morning."

"My God. No wonder you're tired! What are you working on?"

"Nothing much. Just a pesky security system."

"Go get some sleep. I had no idea that techies stayed up so late."

"I need to fin—"

"That was an order. Not a request. I feel like hacking something. I'll finish this. Go sleep." Mello glared.

"Okay."

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When the man had called the security system 'pesky' Mello gained some respect for him. Hacking it took him until six. Matt would have cracked it sooner, but Mello cast that thought aside. When he finished it, he allowed himself a short 'happy dance'; similar to the one Matt always did, when he completed a level on a game, or something of that nature.

After that, his mind reeling with numbers and codes, he stumbled back to bed, for a dreamless sleep.

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He woke at nine, cursing. "If I fuck up my sleep schedule, going back to Wammy's is going to be a bitch."

He stumbled into the main room, if he subtracted the two hours he spent working, he _still_ got more sleep last night than he would have at Wammy's.

"Someone get me some chocolate."

He was home, with people who cared about him, chocolate in his hand, gun in his belt.

...So why did he suddenly wish that he was climbing trees?

**VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV**

**I sincerely hope that that chapter didn't kill you. Because if it did, I'd have no reviewers...And then I'd be sad. **

**Even if you hated it, and you want to deep-fry me in lard, PLEASE review.**

**I apologise for the questionable writing. The lovely girl who usually tells me if my work is crap is MIA for the time being. So you'll have to make do with me...**

**Good luck with that.**

**Okay. Two quick things before I go...-prays that people read my long authors notes-...**

**1. Do you guys _like_ Conrad? Could you tell me in a review? I kinda need to know for the next chapter. The story could go two different ways...**

**2. Can you guys check out the poll on my profile? I'm at a bit of an impasse with the story, and I've decided to ask y'all for your opinions! :D**

**...Mmmmm'Kay. Bye now!**


	8. Picking Locked Doors

I can't believe I let this sit for so long! I just...I went back to my winter house-ish-thing, and started school, and then I've been sort of depressed lately [poooooo], one of my friends died a month ago, and I've been busy mourning her, she was a beautiful person...

but last night I got sick....like....REALLY sick.

AND NOW I'M HOME FROM SCHOOL. Thus, the edit!

Sowwie. You probably all hate me for disappearing for so long.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned them... ... ...L would be able to pay massive amounts of money to make me not sick...? xD I don't own Death Note. =/

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"L!"

"L! Let me in!"

"What-the-fuck?!?! Get your hands _off_ of me, Roger!"

"L! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR."

Matt was currently throwing his small frame against the hard oak doors, trying his best to open the them, if only he had lock picks.

The lock clicked, suddenly, and one of the doors swung open, causing Matt to come barreling into the office, nearly crashing into the desk.

"What do you need, Matt?"

Matt turned with a glare, "Mello."

"I see," The great detective mumbled, "Well, as you can see, he is not in here, so you might as well leave."

"Where did you take him? Where did he go? _Why the motherfucking hell is he not here?!"_

To Matt's disappointment, the strange boy seemed unfazed by his colorful vocabulary, "Language. Please."

"Where did you send him? What do you think he did? It was me. Whatever it was! Wait no! It was Near! Blame the albino. He's _creepy._"

The pale teen sighed, "Matt, Mello _will_ return. He will. He didn't _do_ anything. He had some matters to attend to, thus…don't pin the blame on Near. Don't judge the boy by his race."

"Albino is a race?"

"…That's not the point."

"Sure, sure…" The boy paused, "But…_is_ albino a race?"

"Google it." The detective sighed, not wanting to get into the discussion, "Go back to bed."

"Okay! …When will Mello be back?"

"Hopefully soon."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It didn't _feel _soon.

Matt sat around the room, staring at Mello's chocolate. He didn't feel like looking for someone to play with, and he wasn't going to go to the library, he didn't want to face Near.

…Not after wrongly accusing him for an imaginary crime.

So he sat in his room.

Waiting.

For Mello.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

…_Waiting._

He didn't even feel like playing a video game. He was so far gone. Staring at the wall.

For the first time in a few days, he felt that knowing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The knowing feeling that craved pills.

Ecstasy. Ecstasy with a capital E. Or should he say X?

Mail found it ironic that he didn't even know what the pills were called until he met Mello. Straight-edge, violent, honestly caring Mello.

He clenched Mello's note in his hands.

_Dick._

If the ass-hole was going to leave, did he have to leave such a crude goodbye note?

Well…It was Mello…

_Pillllllllllssssss._

_Stupid L._

_How does no one have them!?!?_

_Someone has to be a little rebellious around here._

…For a genius, he wasn't very good at getting what he wants.

For the first time since he got here…he actually had time to mourn his mother.

He wished he didn't. Mourning means…remembering.

She was an angel. A beauty. A red-headed goddess. He could still remember her in that blue dress she loved, twirling herself around their kitchen.

Baking cookies. Singing.

…Throwing herself into the arms of a new man.

With a jolt Matt remembered the face of the man. The man who beat him, cut him, drugged him. …made his beautiful mother scream through the walls of their small home.

Who made his mother fade into oblivion.

…extinguished her life. Forced him _here. _

Wouldn't be surprised if it was his fault that Mello was gone…No…that was silly.

Either way, the boys small fists clenched in anger.

He wished the man was still alive, alive so that Matt…Mail himself could personally send him to hell.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He must have fallen asleep around midnight, because the next thing he knew, he was screaming, opening his eyes to a clock that told him it was _much_ too early to wake up, and blindly groping the sheets for a part of the boy who made nightmares easier.

Mello wasn't there.

Matt found himself panicking for a second, before he remembered.

"Mihael."

Mihael had left him.

Shit he needed pills.

Where could he find them?

He just needed to find a way to open that last locked door.

It seemed like every door was locked to him, he only needed to open one, and this whole place's secrets would come crashing down at his feet.

He grabbed his laptop, and set about hacking the Wammy firewalls...just one locked door...

He didn't realize that once he opened this one, he wouldn't care about opening the others.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

BAD MATTY! :D

I know, I'm horrible. This was so short...BUT....next chapter will be longer and more dramatic!

PLUS, the chapter past the next one will be the FUTURISTIC chapter...in which I make them older. :DDDD

Hmmmmm. Seems a lot of you like Conrad...Well YOU aren't the writers of this story. MUHAHAHA. -Laughs-

See you soon, lovers!

...REVIEW. PLEASE. FORGIVE ME FOR LEAVING YOU SO LONG.

P.S. Forgive me if I sound loony. They have me on all these medication thingies, to make my migraine take a chill pill...haha. THEY ARE CHILL PILLS...not really...okay...I'm going. BYEZZZ.


	9. Losing Trust

**I know. It took forever...but I've had a ton to deal with. Me and my mom've been fighting a lot, my friend is suicidal, writer's block, my computer had a minor crash...ETC.**

**Sorry 'bout that. =/**

**P.S. No complaining about this chapter please! SILENCIO. Just roll with the story. There's gonna be a twist. You've been warned. ;DDD**

**DISCLAIMER: The day that I own death note, is the day that I find Matt and Mello tied up in my closet. -Goes to check- Nope...Not yet.**

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Mihael spent the entire day after his hacking extravaganza half-asleep in a chair, learning how to count cards from John.

The man was a mathematical guru, who knew that it would be so easy to win blackjack?

"I'm out of chocolate!" Mello cried, around two in the afternoon.

He grinned as his stock was immediately replenished.

"Y'know, Conrad told me there was a _reason_ you left. It wasn't just t'leave." John stated, "We were all sort of curious. One second you're here, the next, we're switching headquarters, you're gone, and Conrad's acting like he's been boss his whole life."

"He was doing what, now?"

"I dunno. Just ordering us all about. We more like expected an all-out manhunt for the people who killed your father, for the people who tried to kill us all…instead; he sends only a few to do that, and the rest to focus on a massive drug hit."

"So that's why you all look like you're rolling in it." Mello rationalized, "You just copped out on a drug hit."

"Yeah. I mean…it's nice, but he just seemed pretty reckless. He didn't seem to ca—"John froze, "I'm sorry. He was probably just overwhelmed."

"Yeah. I'm sure," Mello wryly responded, "I'm going to go take a nap."

"I'm sorry. Yer just a boy. I shouldn't be keeping you up with pointless jabber."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If someone had opened his door a few minutes later, they would have found Mello, in bed, definitely _not_ asleep. He was locked in a fierce mental debate.

_Power hungry? That must be it. He never wanted to control anything until I left._

_He didn't even fucking greet me when I arrived. At least not like I fucking expected._

_He hasn't asked about anything. No question about Wammy's…_

_Sure he called often, while I was away, but suddenly having people come get me, out of the blue, for a fucking lead…_

_What lead? He dragged me here to catch those motherfuckers, so why hasn't he mentioned anything?_

_Fuck. _

_This is so fucked up. I've barely seen Conrad once since I got here, and he's fucking supposed to be my motherfucking right hand._

_What ever happened to him being my fucking shadow? Shit, he used to follow everywhere._

_I didn't miss that sick glint in his eyes as he welcomed me back._

_I'll have to watch my back, I guess…_

He groaned internally. His rationalizing was just forcing him away from his guardian. He trusted Conrad.

…

Didn't he?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Staring at a motherfucking ceiling can get so fucking boring.

At least, that's what Mello thought, and he should know.

He'd been doing it for three fucking hours.

There was a crack in the ceiling, near the corner closest to him…When Mello tilted his head to the side, it slightly resembled the back of Matt's head.

He wondered if the red-head was mad at him for leaving.

Mello was mad at himself for leaving. Why bother? He wasn't doing anything.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mello?"

"Meeeelllooo."

"Mihael!"

"What?!" Mello gasped himself awake, peering into the dim lighting, "Conrad?"

"Yes."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing much. Tomorrow night, we have work to do."

"Whatever." The boy simply didn't care. He was dead tired. In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep, again.

If he'd been awake, he would have noticed Conrad staring, a glint in his eye.

But, he was asleep, back to the world of dreams.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mello. Get up. Honestly. We have work to do."

"Uhgmmmm. Mmmmm'kay. I'm up."

He winced as the door of his room slammed closed.

Way to be a bitch, Conrad.

The boy rubbed sleep from his eyes, flinching as his toes touched the cold floor.

"How is it that a few weeks ago, all I wanted was to come back here, and now, I find myself wanting to leave?" He asked himself in Russian.

If anything, he'd missed the language.

"I'll have to teach Matt Russian when I get home."

With that thought, he turned on his heel, still wearing only his black pajama pants, and went to find Conrad.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So that, is all I really know…"

Mello blanched. Conrad had got to be fucking kidding.

This. Was. Barely. Evidence.

Let alone something that would warrant dragging Mello across several countries, let alone something that would cause the kind of reaction Conrad wanted.

_He doesn't treat me like a fucking genius anymore._

"Conrad."

"Yes?"

"I'm disappointed."

With that, he was walking back down the hall towards his room, hips swaying, attitude rampant.

He was too frustrated to see the look of pure fury Conrad cast at his retreating figure.

"Oh, by the way, I intend to be on a plane back to England by tomorrow evening."

The look of fury turned into a look of hate.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The boy packed his small bag, and lay back on his bed, later that night, sighing in contentment.

"Back at Wammy's soon. I can't wait to see Matt." He mumbled to himself, "I might even have to tell him about the mafia thing."

He snorted at his mental image of Matt's reaction.

"Mail…I can't wait to go…home."

With that thought, and a smile on his face, he drifted off to sleep.

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**You guys are partly to blame for this taking so long. You're the ones who sent me such mixed messages about Conrad. XD**

**I eventually decided to just screw it and write what I wanted. Forgive me.**

**There's one more chapter [In Mello's POV] before I skip ahead in age...6 years. Oh woah now. xD**

**Review please. I got less reviews last chapter than usual. PLEASE DON'T ABANDON ME.**

**Thank you to ALL of my reviewers, subscribers, favoriters, etc. I LOVE YOU ALL. [Even the anonymous ones.] ;D**


	10. The Burn Of Betrayal

**How do I ever express my joy at seeing all of my reviews? 111 Reviews for this story, that's over 10 reviews per chapter.**

**I am honestly blessed with the best readers on fanfiction. You all amaze me with every comment you have about this story, and I am so thankful that you all put up with me.**

**Thank you.**

**I apologize for having this take so long. It was a more than hectic week, with the quarter closing, then my computer went into Lala land, and I was left waiting to update this.**

**I wasn't sure that this was ready, it's honestly hot off the press, but I wanted to get it out, and my [wonderful] friend, and faithful reader, _kittykata,_ assured me that this was of reasonable quality.**

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Death Note, I'd share it with my lovely readers...but sadly for you all, I don't. Sad face.**

**Thus, with a happy heart, I present to you, Chapter 10 of Spoiling Revenge [WOW! DOUBLE DIGITS!!!!!]**

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_There was water. It was everywhere._

_Compressing on his lungs, he struggled to breath, only to end up making it more difficult for himself._

_He opened his eyes, wildly, only to have them meet darkness._

_Black. Surrounding him._

_Red flew across his vision._

_Where was everybody?_

_Hw sucked in a breath, and with a jolt, he realized that he wasn't drowning in water._

_No._

_It was much worse._

_That taste…_

_He was drowning in blood._

"Mello!" A voice called from far away, "Ye best get up! Ye'll miss yer flight!"

_John? Was John drowning too?_

_That sucks._

His brain registered darkness, his head felt stuffy.

He couldn't breath.

He heard a muffled, "Shit."

_Conrad?_

_Pull me out, Conrad! _

_No help came._

_He waited, trying to breathe…and…_

Suddenly, his brain managed to comprehend what was going on.

There was no blood.

Someone was trying to smother him.

Who did he--

Conrad.

"Mmmphhhlgggmeegguuuuuuuhhhhhfffff…" He gasped, vision fading.

"Mello? C'mon!" John called again.

He could feel the pillow shift, and instead, a knife was pressed to his throat.

A cold voice that didn't sound like it _could_ come from Conrad's lips suddenly began to speak beside his ear.

"You'll be out soon; you're just gathering the last of your things. He should wait for you out front in the car. Say it, now!"

Mello remained silent, his eyes swirling with confusion, betrayal, and hate.

"Say it!"

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I think the Mafia needs a proper leader, not just a kid. I'm a better choice…now say it!"

Silence.

"Mello?" John's voice was much closer now, just down the hallway.

Mello and Conrad both realized at the same time that the door remained unlocked.

"Fuck."

"Mel— Oh! Conrad! What are you doing here?" John asked, surprised.

"Uhm…Right…" Conrad laughed, dropping Mello from his grip, "I'm not allowed to say goodbye to my favorite little boy? You know I—"

"Mello…What're you looking for?" John asked the boy, who was reaching a hand under his mattress, face scrunched as he felt around...

Bingo. His hand clenched on metal.

Conrad turned to look, face frozen in anxiety.

"This."

Without another word, he swung the gun up, pulling the trigger, watching as the traitor's brains splattered against the ceiling, short range.

It felt like the blood sprayed in slow motion. Mello had never shot someone point blank in the head before, and he'd never imagined that blood could explode from a wound like that.

Like popping a water balloon.

He turned his face, sharply, as he felt himself _drenched_ in the sticky substance.

It smelled bad.

He had about a second to process his actions.

Then…

"What the fuck?!?" John yelped, jumping to avoid the dead body, as it came crashing down to the floor.

"John." Mello muttered, staring at the blood in a slightly disgusted way, shaking a bit off of his pants, glad that he wasn't in his leather yet. Blood _never_ came out of leather, "Get me the fuck out of this country."

John stared at Conrad's corpse.

In shock.

"But…Whaa---?"

"He was a traitor. Traitors die. You all would do best to remember that," He spoke to the men who'd come to crowd around the doorway at the sound of a gun, "I'm going back now, but I expect you all to remember that I don't show mercy. Conrad forgot, see where it got him. Shot the fuck into the ground."

How did he manage to be so cold and merciless in these sorts of situations? He himself had no idea.

Either way, despite his harsh, calculating words, they seemed unable to compute anything he was saying into sense.

Mello wasn't sure it made sense.

He found tears welling in his eyes, and he blinked them away hurriedly, he wouldn't break down. He just couldn't comprehend. How could Conrad do this?

He felt cold. Finally, after almost two months orphaned, he finally felt like he had nothing else to lose.

More than anything, he wanted to go back to Wammy's.

Back to where everything made sense.

Back where he could understand.

Here, it seemed like things always happened that he didn't understand, where as at Wammy's, everything was logic, and numbers, and safety.

Maybe he'd underestimated L.

How could he leave though?

His guardian, his second-hand man, was in a pool of brains on the floor.

He couldn't help but sigh.

"John. I hope you're ready for a promotion." Mello muttered, pulling on his leather vest, "Learn from Conrad's mistake. Now get me the fucking hell out of here."

…

"…And somebody clean up this mess."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mello didn't let himself cry. Not a tear. He kept silent in the car, emotionless in the airport, and stoic on the plane.

That's right; he was actually flying back to England through semi-_legal_ transportation.

It would be legal, but he was registered under the name 'John Smith'.

He was too drained to be original.

The tail of Mafia-men who were headed to England with him were on a different flight, so, after boarding his plane, and sitting down next to a creepy old man who kept looking at him and licking his lips, he allowed himself a small sob.

But. Not. One. Single. Tear.

And then he cast the old man a glare, sat back, and waited for the plane to take off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't a long flight; the mafia was in Western Russia (obviously. Where else would they be? Siberia? Not in a million years.) And Wammy's was in Central England.

Not far apart at all.

Hell, it's the same continent. A continent made up of 47, miniscule, countries.

However, no matter how short of a flight, the relative silence left Mello time to think. Time he didn't want.

_Planes. Fucking planes. _

_The biggest awkward silence ever. I mean, c'mon! We're all people! We've been programmed to be social. If that's the case, why is it that no one on planes ever talk?_

The old man had fallen asleep about four minutes into the flight, and Mello was pretty much mind-babbling, trying to keep his head away from his most recent killing.

_It's almost funny; it doesn't feel like it was me, like someone else was in my body._

_But I know that's not true. I can still feel the kick of the gun to my wrist, and the feel of the trigger on my finger._

_Why'd I shoot him? John could have easily incapacitated him…. I was just…So angry. _

_How dare he betray me? After all that my father and I have done for him._

_It did, however, reinforce my no-mercy policy…They seemed to have forgotten that I'm not my father. I don't need a 'trial' before I judge._

_I'm the boss._

Feeling queasy at the direction that his thoughts had taken him, he tried to turn on the in-flight movie, to keep him distracted, but even that didn't help.

It was some boring Russian chick-flick.

It amused him that over half of these uptight business men probably didn't even speak Russian.

English was taking over the world. Mello found himself glad that he was fluent in it.

"Attention all passengers, this flight is expecting a brief amount of turbulence, due to a small storm on the flight path, it is nothing that should cause alarm, but the captain does request that you fasten your seatbelts, as the seatbelt sign has just been illuminated."

The turbulence wasn't bad, a bump here, and a jolt there.

The only annoying thing about it was that it woke up the old man beside him.

Who was now staring at the small stretch of skin that showed between Mello's pants and vest.

Mello wondered what would happen if he just started screaming: 'EYE RAPE! HE'S RAPING ME WITH HIS _EYES!!!'_

The reaction would probably be humorous, but Mello refrained from the action itself.

Instead, he lost himself in more thought.

_Turbulence. Heh._

_Fuck. Why was Conrad such an idiot? _

_There were so many ways that he could have gone about killing me. _

_Hell, why didn't he just crash the plane? He could've offed me on the way to Wammy's…Idiot._

He felt strange; trying to think of ways people could kill him.

_A few more thoughts like these, and I'll be as paranoid as L!_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Imagine Mello's surprise upon getting off of the plane, when he saw that that very detective was standing by the wall, waiting for him.

"Hello, Mello." Mello found himself happy to hear the familiar monotone, even if it was forming an obvious rhyme.

_Like I've never heard that one before…_

"Uhh. Hi L."

"How was Russia? Good to see your old home, I presume?"

"Not particularly." Mello replied, tense.

"Oh." L's eyes widened, and Mello couldn't help but grimace. He was so used to L knowing _everything_ that it didn't even occur to him that L wouldn't already know of the morning's events, "That's unfortunate. Either way, let us return to the home."

The words held Mello's heart in place. _Home._ Mello found himself, suddenly, unbearably excited to see Matt. To see his best friend.

_Home._

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The drove up the gravel pathway, halting in front of the main entrance.

Awkward.

About halfway through the drive, L's blackberry rang, and upon answering it, the teen had to hold the phone away from his ear as Roger's voice shouted over the line.

"_Have you picked up Mello yet?!?"_

"_Please control your volume, Roger. Yes, he is beside me as we speak. Is there something important?"_

_Mello shifted deeper into the leather of the seat, his clothing making creaking sounds as it rubbed against the same type of fabric._

"_Yes! I just received word that…" Roger's voice decreased in volume and Mello could hear no more. He turned to look out the window, and flinched as he heard an audible intake of breath from L, and felt a shocked stare on the back of his head._

"_He what?!" The teen yelped, and Mello smirked as L's voice raised several octaves higher than a monotone allowed._

_Huh. He finally managed to shock L._

"_Oh. Yes. Thank you for informing me." Click._

_Silence._

Not a word had been spoken, since L ended the call.

So, without a glance at the detective, who was probably wondering whether he should hug or Imprison the blond, Mello leapt from the car and raced toward the house. All he wanted was a warm hug from Matt, and a long nap.

A chocolate bar would be nice too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh! Ah…Mello…You're back!" Some strange boy mumbled, blocking the door to Mello's room.

"Yes. I am."

"That's nice. How was your trip?" The twat was dressed entirely in green, and he looked sort of like a colorful near look-alike.

"Move. I'm tired. You're annoying me."

"Uhh. Sorry. I can't move. You're not supposed to go in there… They're… uhh… repainting it."

"That's a blatant lie. Now get out of my way, fucker. I'll hit you."

"Please don't…I just…I'm not supposed to let you in."

Mello grinned, as they boy's armor started to crack, "Really? Why not?"

"No reason!" The boy said, to fast for truth, "You're just…not supposed to go in."

"Okay. Will you tell me who gave you permission to block me from my own room?"

"Oh. Yeah. It was Wammy. He said not to---"

The boy gasped as Mello roughly shoved him to the floor and lunged for the door.

If Wammy gave the order, it was probably serious.

"Ow! What the—"The boy yelled, but it was pointless, Mello was already slamming the door closed in his face.

He took a deep breath, and prepared himself for what he was about to—

Was that a…_giggle?_

It came from the other room.

"Matt?"

Silence.

He lunged forward, and opened the door to the other room, only to gasp, as he choked on words.

It took him a few seconds to process…

How…?

There was no way around it; the red-head was flying as high as a fucking kite.

The boy sat on his bed, eyes fogged, as he stared at the blond in wonder.

"Mello!" The boy gasped, laughing madly, "You're just in time! I was just fixing myself some cake! I figured we could share with L, since he loves it, only then we'd have to share with Wammy, to be polite, I could invite Jerr—"

The boy paused, mid sentence, and occupied himself with a spot on the wall.

Mello heard Matt mumble something along the lines of 'looks like an elephant.'

The blond stood in shock, in the doorframe, frozen to the spot.

For the first time during the hell-filled day, Mello felt tears running down his face.

He growled in annoyance at his pathetic tear-ducts.

_Another betrayal._

_Why today?_

_Why's he have to betray me today of all days?_

"You promised!" Mello shouted, shocking the gamer out of his stupor, "You fucking promised me you'd never do it again!"

Mail's eyes moved to Mello's general direction, eyes out of focus, as if looking at something over the other boy's shoulder, and then he giggled, "But I needed something to do while you were gone! I _knew_ I could beat L's system!"

Mello let out a choked sob, and slouched slightly.

And Matt finally seemed to realize how upset his friend was.

"Shhhhh. Mihael. Don't cryyyyyyyyyy." Laughter, "I probably have more somewhere, if you want to be happy too!" He smiled brightly.

Mello was shocked to find himself considering it. Mail, no…Matt, just looked so happy. Mello wished he were that happy.

Instead, however, he leapt up, and slapped the other boy across the face.

_And it felt good._

So he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Soon he was all out punching Matt into the wall, throwing him to the ground and hitting him as hard as his small fists could manage.

Matt was too high to even consider defending himself.

Instead, he started screaming, not at Mello, at someone else.

"Let me go! I'll tell 'er! I promise. She don't love you, fuck, ow!" Matt wailed.

It felt good to hear his friend scream.

Matt _deserved_ it.

"We'll leave! Just…Ow!"

Mello slammed the gamer's head into the floor. The boy was bleeding now.

Mello…

He was Mello.

Mello didn't show mercy to liars.

He continued to beat his roommate, until he felt hands claw at him, voices shouting, and suddenly, he was being held up, slammed against the wall.

And he froze.

"Mello." L spoke harshly, "you're upset. I understand, but I think it's time for a room change."

The detective paused, "On second thought. I'm isolating you. I can not have you kill someone, and then start attacking other children, even if they are under the influence."

"Let. Me. Go."

"No Mello. This is your home, and I will have you treat it with respect. Come. I'm moving you to a new room. Wammy will collect your things."

_Home._

_Home. _

_Home is where the heart is._

Too bad Mello didn't have a heart.

Not anymore.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**I really feel as though this ending should be accompanied with spooky background music...but what do I know? I'm just the author. XD**

**I really hope you like this.**

**I'd hate to fail you, when you're all so kind to me. :D Really, I would.**

**After this chapter, There will be a short sneak-peek chapter about the future, which will appear in a couple of days, to give you all a teaser, and give me time to plan out their personalities for five years from now...Which'll be a challenge for me.**

**Please review, so that I know how you feel, and who to thank for reading this baby of mine.**

**In said reviews, please include how you think such a fall-out would affect Matt and Mello's academic success, I'd like your input.**

**Okay. I'll go now. I give my reviewers my heart and soul!**


	11. A Look At What's To Come

**Here it is. The promised teaser chapter...**

**The next chapter will begin with them as their soon-to-be-mentioned older ages.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Matt or Mello...but I do own the plot.**

**READ ON!**

* * *

Two…Two…Two…One…Two…One…Two….One…Two…One…One…One…

One…One…Two…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…

One…Two….One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…

One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One...One…One…One…

One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…One…Two.

--

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--

Three…Three…Four…Four…Six…Five…Five…Five…Six…Eight…Eight…Six…

Eight…Nine…Nine…Ten…Nine…Eleven…Ten…Ten…Ten…Nine…Nine…Nine…

Four…Seven…Thirteen…Nine…Ten…Ten…Ten…Ten…Eleven…Ten…Ten…Ten…

Twenty…Twenty…Nineteen…Twenty-eight…Twenty…Thirty…Thirty-two…Thirty-four…Thirty…Forty…Forty-one…Forty…

Twenty-seven...Thirty-six...Eighteen...Twelve...Sixteen...Thirty-eight...Ten...Eleven ...Eleven...Nine...Fourteen...Thirteen...

Forty…Thirty-one…Twenty…Nineteen…Ten…Twelve…Thirty…Twenty…Forty-six…Seventeen…Twenty-four…One.

--

--

--

--

Matt stopped caring a long time ago.

Matt didn't bother leaving his room.

Matt smoked pot; he lived in a constant state of drug-induced intoxication.

Matt never stopped thinking about his mother.

Matt had a small bump on his nose, from when it was broken, six years before.

Matt no longer begged for forgiveness.

--

Mello never forgot.

Mello never made another friend.

Mello never clung to his illusions, preferring to drown in his goals.

Mello didn't need anyone, he was rising in the crime world, all the way from Wammy's, he was feared by grown men.

Mello was a killer.

The date was December 13, the English sky was gray, most children were still asleep, it was a usual day.

Mello was now thirteen.

Happy Birthday to him.

He stood alone, that dim morning, looking up at something unexpected.

* * *

**Wow. Eleven Chapters. This feels weird.**

**I'd like to point out that I have 129 reviews, which is more than I ever expected, and the story is nowhere NEAR done. I love you ALL.**

**Okay. I've gotten PMs from a few people, asking for one of those nifty competition things. SO...If you're one of the first 5 people to tell me what the lists of numbers in this chapter mean, I'll give you a piece of my soul [and maybe I'll write a one-shot of your choosing for you, as long as I approve]...XD**

**I'm putting a new poll on my profile, so check that out... Please...**

**And, as always, please review.**


	12. Intoxicated Perfection

**GAH!**

**It's been so long! How DO you all put up with me?! -busts out LONG list of excuses- Eh. Who am I kidding?  
My absence/lack of updates is INEXCUSABLE!!!!**

**I listened to the cool kitty-kats who reviewed the latest chapter of Centered [insert shameless self-advertisement here] and updated this story first. :D**

**You know why? **

**BECAUSE IT'S MELLO'S BIRTHDAY TODAY!!!!!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR FAVORITE HOMICIDAL BLOND!!! **

**I'm going to warn you, the writing style has changed SLIGHTLY, because they're older, and it was difficult to write the age skip. :]**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Death Note. At all. Only in my dreams. O.O**

**I now present to you, SPOILING REVENGE CHAPTER TWELVE!!!**

* * *

Matt sighed as he flopped down on his bed, looking around his room, now exceptionally less exciting than it was six years ago.

That thought had him lazily blinking through his goggles, as he leaned over the side of his bed, grabbing a shoe-box out from under it.

He grinned to himself as he pulled the top off, examining the contents.

He couldn't help but smirk at the glass pipe he held in his hand, wiping a little bit of smoke residue off of it.

Fill it.

Light it.

Inhale.

Hold it.

Hold it.

Hold it.

Exhale.

Repeat.

He coughed slightly at the burn, as a husky fire lit itself down his throat, but got over it fast, well used to the feeling.

He took off his goggles, when they started fogging, and giggled, putting them on his bedside table.

They'd cover for the bloodshot eyes.

He truly was a genius.

With that thought, Matt grimaced, grabbing his lighter for another hit.

* * *

It wasn't long before he was lazily staring up at the ceiling, twirling the smoky air around his fingers. No one but a smoker ever thought that the smoke smelled good, but he loved the musky smell of his room.

The smell of pot, cigarettes, and stale booze.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The noise was timid and weak, and Matt grinned at the obvious culprit.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to knock?!" he tried to shout, but it only came out as a monotone, the bud was slurring his voice.

"Matt. Judging by the red around your eyes, and the pungent odor emanating from the room, you have been partaking in illegal activities." The pale boy stated, "I would hate to have to contact L, which, as his second-in-line heir, I would have to do upon catching you. I do not, however, need to contact him if I do not have solid evidence."

"Near, buddy, you know I love you loads, but _L?_ Honestly?" Matt grinned impishly, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you have no idea." Near joked, showing Matt a side that he rarely revealed to anyone else, before his expression turned somber, "Matt. When are you going to end this? I only ever estimated this _phase_to last a year at most, but the moment you stopped begging Mello to forgive you, you turned to _this._ It's been six years. After the predicted year, you replaced him with drugs and became...43% more depressed."

"I know."

"I only mean to—"

"I know, Near." Matt muttered, "But I know you've been guessing about my plan. I'll get over this."

"Alright. In that case, might I interest you in a game with my new robot? It makes realistic beeping noises." The albino smiled, holding out a pale, pajama-sheathed hand.

Matt was immediately sent six years back.

"Yeah, Near, I think I'd actually really like that."

* * *

It was midnight, or so the white numbers in the corner of the computer screen told him, when he sat down at his desk.

The gray computer wasn't exactly pretty, but it suited his purposes far better than his fancy, Wammy-issued laptop.

He made the thing himself.

He may be ranked twenty-fourth on the boards, but he knew his way around a computer.

Even if he killed off his brain cells.

The moment the thought passed his mind, he took another drag off of the blunt in his hand, and allowed himself a moment of contemplation.

Why did everyone at Wammy's have self-destructive hobbies?

For himself, it was the drugs. Usually just Mary Jane, but he certainly didn't turn down something else.

He saw kids running through the fields, testing model rockets, a kid down the hall experimented with explosives, the girl ranked fortieth would secretly sneak out to prostitute herself at night, whenever she failed a test.

She was only sixteen.

A ten year old boy, ranked sixtieth, was an alcoholic.

Several kids cut their arms to shreds.

B had gone insane.

A had killed himself.

Gruesomely.

Several times, he'd seen Mello shaking in his chair, pulling at his hair during tests, clawing at his own skin.

Everyone saw the golden child as an angel.

Perfection. He was strong, angry, fierce, and thrillingly intelligent. Everything that the other kids wished they were.

He was number one.

That's all that mattered to them.

Matt knew differently. Just the week before, he'd caught Mello sobbing his eyes out in the back stairwell, while the red-head had been simply looking to sneak a cigarette in between lessons.

Mello hadn't noticed him.

It was then, that Matt was truly grateful for his plan, one he'd been working on for two months in advance.

The stress was killing the boy he'd wanted to re-befriend for six years, killing him.

He set down his blunt, letting it smolder, he'd relight it later, because the thought of his plan had him immediately loading his computer, opening up his email.

One by one, they came trailing in.

Messages from his teachers, expressing their apologies.

Not that it was their fault.

He'd let them think for weeks that he was failing their classes, because all of Wammy's was automatic.

You sent your work in, directly to your teachers, so that they couldn't be accused of losing papers.

Children with Wammy's intelligence were quite skilled at exploiting loopholes.

Matt didn't care though, because the system gave him his cover.

He spent the last several weeks actually putting in an effort, going to his lessons, participating, eating lunch.

His teachers were amazed.

But much to their confusion, he hadn't turned in any work.

Not a piece.

They'd excitedly gone to check their computers, but nothing came.

Matt, however, did his work by the deadlines, and then buried it in their computers, under files and reports, hiding it from their view.

Until now.

A few hours before those little white numbers had flashed at midnight, he'd emailed each one of his professors, telling them that his work should be there, and it should be logged in their computers, under each and every due date.

He flicked open his zippo, and grinned.

* * *

_I would like to extend my deepest apology to you, Matt, for my disregard..._

_You must have been extremely confused by your rank..._

_I honestly hope that this inconvenience will be righted as soon as..._

_History has always been an important subject to me, and I now apologize for getting so angry with you, I was obviously in the..._

_I am disgusted with myself as a technology professor, to have overlooked such blatant good work, it has been corrected, and I'm very pleased to see that you..._

They all came pouring in, like water, apologies from every one of his miserably pathetic teachers.

How could they honestly think that they'd 'overlooked' his work?

Were they idiots?

No matter.

Matt couldn't seem to keep the smirk off of his face.

He'd won.

The boy that he'd unintentionally hurt six years ago would finally notice him.

**Mello would have no choice.**

* * *

"_Don't leave me!" he shouted, spinning around, looking for that glimpse of gold and peach._

_The entire chamber was filled with everything from canaries to sand, and yet he was unable to find that one boy, that which he missed the most._

_Suddenly the room turned crimson, and he fought his way through the thickness of the air to reach his dying mother._

"_Shush, son. I'm only going to sleep."_

_Sleep._

_Sleep._

_Sleep._

_He was frozen in place, when his beautiful mother became a blond teenager, his mother's chest, which he'd been clutching, flattened out, and suddenly he was clutching an older version of Mello._

_His fair was ragged and his skin was dry, but he was strangely beautiful._

_Pale and angelic._

_Sleep._

_Sleep._

_Icy eyes snapped open, and suddenly Matt felt cold._

_The body shrunk, and Mello was the Mello he remembered._

_Idealistic._

_Young._

_Leather. _

_Matt missed the leather._

"_Don't worry, Matt, I'm only going to sleep. Only to sleep."_

_Sleep._

_Sleep._

_Then he felt himself burning._

_Mello was burning._

_The room turned white, and Matt was alone._

_Phantom lips ghosted against his cheek. _

"_Don't worry. I'll never leave you."_

Beep. Beep. BREEEEEP.

Matt flung himself awake, knocking papers and joints everywhere in his quest to stand up.

He was covered in sweat, clutching his stomach as he panted.

It had felt so fucking real.

He'd had nightmares ever since his mother died...no...ever since he'd had to sleep alone.

But this one had felt so goddamned _real_.

Matt sighed, brushing his hair back, and grabbing some close, as if in an afterthought, he glanced at his bedside table.

His clock said six AM.

Not just _any_ six AM though.

It was six AM on December 13.

It was six AM on Mello's thirteenth birthday.

* * *

He skulked down the corridor, pausing every so often to glance around, glad he was barefoot.

He didn't want to be seen, or intercepted by his quarry.

He sped his pace, quickly coming to a halt in an alcove.

He could finally see Mello.

The boy was staring dumbfounded at a bulletin board.

Though he couldn't see it, Matt knew what the paper was reporting.

He also knew that it would take Mello's brain a few moments to recover from the shock, and to comprehend what he was being informed.

Matt took great pleasure in Mello's fury.

It was the exact reaction the teenager had been looking for.

Pure, unadulterated, undeniable anger.

Mello's knuckles were turning white, with the strain he placed upon his fists.

He seemed to be muttering something to himself.

Matt's watch flashed once, alerting the boy, silently, that it was now seven.

He grinned.

Suddenly, about sixty children filed into the hall, from their respective rooms, heading directly for the board, all forming a circle around the, as usual, early Mello.

Their polite chatter abruptly died down, as they took notice of the top three names.

Usually the second and third were the first to be looked at.

First place was a given.

Mello.

They all stared openly at the blond.

He turned on his heel, and the mass of children parted, without a word.

_**1-Matt**_

_**2-Mello**_

_**3-Near**_

_**4.**_

_**5.**_

_**6.**_

_**7.**_

_**8.**_

_**...**_

As Matt silently vacated his hiding spot, so that he could see for himself, the other children stared at him in awe.

He was their new idol.

This silent boy, the stoner who didn't give a shit, wore messy clothes, and never really ate, was who they now aspired to be.

L was only a dream. A god.

Matt, however, was reachable. Human.

He was the closest thing that they had, to that letter on the screen.

And his scruffiness gave them hope.

There was no way that he deserved it.

Their Matt, Mello's Mail Jeevas, didn't deserve it.

Mello did.

_He was the perfect one._

They glared at the ingrate. Mello did so much for the hermit of a boy. It was their respect for Mello that kept them from beating on Matt.

And yet, Mello had fallen, lost to the boy who stood before them, casually smoking a cigarette.

They watched as the poisonous stick slowly burnt down.

They watched as he snuffed it out.

They watched as he causally walked away.

Matt wondered if they'd ever stop watching him.

They reminded him of vultures.

They envy your strength, they take advantage of weakness.

Wammy's tended to turn orphans into vultures.

Matt simply went back to his room, and grabbed a bottle of tequila.

He wasn't sure if he was celebrating, or drowning.

All of his thoughts were focused on the small notice that was pinned beneath the rankings.

The notice that must have crushed the blond, in every way possible.

The notice that had never come when _Mello _was first.

**L will be arriving at the orphanage this weekend. The three highest ranked children are expected to meet him at the gate. He would like to meet with Matt immediately. **

* * *

**Like it? Hate it? I'd REALLY like to know.**

**So review please!**

**Okay. I know, there's a lot of drug referencing going on in this chapter, so just in case you're an innocent cupcake [unlike me] and don't recognize them, I'll provide a bit of a guide.**

**Mary Jane: Pot.  
Bud: Pot.  
Pipe: Something you can smoke pot out of.  
Joint: Similar to a cigarette, they're a one-use way to smoke pot.  
Blunt: Similar to a joint, they hold more pot [depending on how tight they're packed] and burn slower.  
NOTE: Blunts and joints are lit like cigarettes, Pipes usually either get cherry'd [glow red] or you smoke with a lighter held over the pot that's inside as you inhale.  
Hope this makes more sense out of this chapter.**

**On a similar note, do you think that I should raise the rating to M because of drugs and swearing?  
Please tell me in a REVIEW. Thanks.**

**I'll try to get the next update out MUCH sooner!**

**I love you all. ;]**


	13. Tasting Of Cigarettes

**Oh Gawsh. I'm sorry. I meant to have this out around Christmas.  
But...Shit happened.  
****  
I'm SO sorry. O.O  
Okay. Here's chapter 13. I made it pretty long and...interesting [I hope]...  
And I beg your forgiveness. I took too long, updating.**

Love you ALL.

**DISCLAIMER: If Death Note was mine...I'd be arrested for chaining all of the main characters up in my basement...Oh my.**

P.S. The rating is now M. Just letting y'all know. :)

**

* * *

**

He stormed down the hall, pushing random orphans out of his way.

Tssk. As if it mattered.

He was usually frightening, but nothing like this.

He'd spent the last several years forming himself into the perfect boy.

Cool.

Calm.

Collected.

He broke down occasionally, but he was confident that no one noticed.

Even his fellow genius peers found it difficult to see past his pristine exterior.

He rarely swore.

He used brains, instead of brawn.

Mello was what ever other orphan aspired to be.

And he knew it.

Mello had worked his ass off over the past six years, trying to prove Conrad wrong.

He _was_ capable of running the Mafia.

He _wasn't_ _a failure._

He'd been alive for thirteen years. According to his promise to L, he would be a student at Wammy's for another five years.

He'd promised eleven years, in total, of his life, to L. He'd pledged it away.

And L had never _once_ put in an effort to visit him.

Not once.

At least not after...the incident.

But the _moment_ Matt, the infamous addict of Wammy's stole his spot, here L was, jetting on back to England, taking a visit, before he went off on a massive case.

A _visit._

"So _nice_ of you to stop by, motherfucker." Mello mumbled to himself, the atmosphere in the common room, in which he currently stood, relaxed blatantly.

Until he threw a lamp into a wall.

Naturally, it shattered.

Everyone stared at him in shock. Momentarily, he regretted not making friends. He had no where to turn, nothing to say or do.

He was alone.

For the first time in five years, since he'd recovered from his brief depression, he missed the tiny red-headed boy.

That smile that was always reserved for him.

But now Matt had _Near_ and he'd recently acquired first fucking place.

The fucker would pay dearly for screwing Mello over.

"Someone clean that shit up." He muttered, coldly, before taking a bite of his chocolate, and swiftly leaving the room.

He could feel the stares burning into his slim back, he was different.

L was expected this weekend.

Friday.

Mello knew a lot of things, yet he knew next to nothing about L.

One thing was for sure in his mind, though....

He would _not_ be meeting L at the gate to Wammy's.

* * *

Mello sat, bitterly, on his bed, his spacious room surrounded him, as he stared at the large glass window.

He was glad that his room was staying the same. The top three spots in the ranks got the largest rooms.

The three rooms in the front of the house.

When Mello had first come, he and Matt had an adjoining room, meant for the second and third, but since all three rooms were the same size, Matt had opted to take the room usually reserved for third.

That way, he could spend more time with _Near._

The boy who'd previously held third place was pissed.

Matt was _definitely _getting an upgrade.

The moment Mello's mind set on thoughts of Matt, he groaned, he hadn't even glanced at Matt for the longest time.

That didn't mean that he'd forgotten the boy.

Not at all.

He had some Turkish girl from down the hall sending him weekly updates, letting him know if Matt was using anything harder than his usual fucking joints.

But he had several students tracked, it wasn't just Matt.

Mello chuckled; he sure wasn't on top for nothing.

Still...he had no idea what Matt even looked like anymore.

The red-head was in lower classes, and rarely left his room.

Neither of them ate outside of their rooms.

Mello had his food brought to him as he studied.

Matt was too high to care.

High.

High.

Sometimes, he'd walk by the bathroom, or the kitchen, and the entire area would _reek._

Matt didn't pretend that he was clean.

He made it fucking obvious.

Mello had decided long ago that he'd be embarrassed in L's place.

To call that _addict_ one of his heirs.

"Stupid fucker!" He screamed, falling back into the childish tantrums he was prone to as a child.

"Me! Mello! Mihael-Fucking-Keehl! I lost to a _stoner!_"

He'd been second to Near, a few times, but only to Near.

He _accepted_ that competition.

But he couldn't accept this.

He kicked his bedpost; his steel-toed boots left a dent in the cast iron frame.

Then he proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs.

It instantly made him feel lighter.

"It's not fair." He groaned, fighting back tears.

Though it didn't last long. As if on cue, his shoulders stiffened, and the cocky glint returned to his features.

"Tch. I'll get it back. He can't hold it up for long."

With that thought, feeling satisfied, the blond leaned up against his door, relaxing.

He was the best.

He always would be the best.

And he, at least, took satisfaction in the fact that everyone knew it.

* * *

"Well, we got him all moved in. He just hooked up that new x-box, said he'd manage the last of the boxes—"

"Silly kid. Packin' up 'is room, I had to box up all of 'is pipes and such. Lil' kid doin' that. Cigarettes and shit too."

"Crazy, I' is."

There was a grunt in acknowledgement in the conversation, taking place outside of Mello's room.

The blond twitched, eyes opening blearily as he took in his surroundings.

The clock by his bed told him that it was nearly midnight.

He'd fallen asleep on his floor.

The men in the hallway were still talking.

The only thing Mello could deduce from their babbling was that Matt was moved in, and that the men were most likely of European decent, Irish or Scottish.

He only really cared about the first bit of information.

However, on the off chance that these men turned out to be homicidal maniacs who planned to commit a gruesome murder, and then flee back to their homeland, he'd have a place to start looking.

The chances of that happening were about .01%, but you could never be sure.

Fuck.

He sounded like L.

He shook his head rapidly, from side to side, trying, for once, to turn off his thought process.

Sometimes, he wished it was possible.

If Matt was moved in, judging by what Mello knew about drugs, the boy would play video games for about 10 or so minutes, and then the nagging feeling would take over, and the boy would cave to his need.

Mello wanted to get there before that happened.

He figured he might as well go...'Welcome'...the fucker.

In the least polite way possible.

Immediately.

* * *

To the blonde's dismay, when the door opened, in response to his insistent knocking, Matt already had a cigarette in his hand.

Despite his disgust, Mello froze for a moment.

Mello had always expected Matt to look thin and sickly, probably with yellow teeth and ugly clothes.

The boy standing in front of him was nothing like that.

Sure, his posture screamed of laziness and his skin was pale, but his teeth were pearly white, accented by his fiery hair.

He wore incredibly tight jeans, and a purple and black striped shirt.

Mello gulped.

"Can I help you?" Matt asked, voice smug.

Remembering his mission, Mello pushed past the other boy, taking in the room he hadn't seen in six years.

"Looks the same, doesn't it?" Matt asked, lightly, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"What?"

Matt grinned, and blew smoke directly into his old friend's face, "Never mind." He laughed, immensely enjoying Mello's coughs.

"Ugh! You're infuriating." Mello gasped, hacking, "I don't believe you, here I am, coming to welco—"

"Tssk. Mello. Cut the bullshit. We both know why you're here." Matt stated, voice flat, "we _also_ both know that despite this intelligent façade, you really just want to scream at me in Russian, maybe add in a few swears."

Mello glared, as Matt eased his lips in close to the other boy's ear.

"Maybe you want to break a rib or two, like you did when we were kids?" The red-head whispered, and Mello shivered, as the warm breath hit his skin.

"That's not why I—"

"_**BULLSHIT**_." Matt shouted, directly in Mello's ear, taking enjoyment out of Mello's startled jump.

"That felt good." He whispered, taking another drag, "you should try shouting more often." Matt suggested, running his index finder along the pale skin of Mello's jaw, "maybe release some excess...tension."

Mello backed away quickly, alarmed, he never expected Matt to act like this.

He could tell the boy was sober, his eyes were clear, despite the cigarette, Matt looked normal.

"Shut up."

"Shut up? Is that all you can say? I really expected better from you." The boy paused his monologue to take a drag, "I let you get secure in your place, and I let you enjoy your pedestal, while I enjoyed the drugs that I know you hate."

Another drag.

Mello found his eyes glued to the cigarette, as Matt waved it to and fro.

"I ignored the fact that you leave at least once a month, I ignored the gun that you carry sometimes. Oh don't look surprised. I notice you. I let Anika, that Turkish chick, see me smoke blunts all the time, so you could feel on top of things."

This time Matt puffed smoke in rings towards Mello's face, enjoying the way the blonde's nose crinkled.

"I. Was. Watching. You."

For once, the short thirteen year old boy had nothing to say. He'd stood up to the toughest men in the organized crime, he'd killed dozens of people, and here he was, shocked and entranced by smoke and words, as his mind begged him to reclaim control.

"I—I—"

He honestly had no idea how this conversation had come so fast, caught him so off guard. One moment he was striding into the room, the next, he was being peeled apart.

"Yes Mello? Do you not like me taunting you?" Matt laughed, "Do you not like me mentioning how angry and haunted you really are?"

Mello flinched.

"I may have been high that night, but I still remember the _look_ in your eyes. You looked so lost. I was confused when you turned down my offer for drugs. What happened, Mels?"

The old nickname sent a shock through the blond, who stood straighter, angrily glaring at the boy.

He'd never forgive himself if he let Matt continue to mock him like this.

"Did you lose someone special? Does it hurt now, that you don't have anyone? You're alone here. You don't even have your rank to cling to."

Mello mentally begged him not to say it.

"You're just second best."

But Matt said it anyway.

"At least I'm not a fucking drugged up asshole that can't function without a cigarette or a motherfucking joint. At least I have my work. You don't have anyone but your drugs. At least people respect me. They look down on you. You mean shit to them!" Mello shouted, surprised at his outburst.

Matt simply shrugged, "We all pick our poisons."

That was when Mello realized.

He shouldn't get angry. That's what Matt wanted.

"You're right."

"Huh?"

"We do pick our poisons. You're completely right. Say hi to L for me." Mello chuckled, looking down.

"But—You—and—what—I..."

The other boy was tongue tied, gasping at air.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not surprised that you were practically stalking me. Sort of pathetic, if you think about it." Mello continued, gloating.

"What are you insinuating?" Matt asked, expression stormy.

They both knew how to work these conversations.

When people of their mental ability argued, it was like watching a tennis match.

No one person ever kept the upper hand for long.

They just had to wait for the match point.

"Well, just that it's natural. Lots of people have childhood crushes. Quite frankly, I'm flattered." Mello admitted, looking every inch as smug and egotistical as he felt.

"Hah. Like your crush on Conrad?" Matt glared.

Mello shrank back.

"What?"

"Sometimes, if I'm walking past your room in the middle of the night, I hear you screaming his name. Wet dreams?" Matt mocked, eyes cold.

"_You fucker!_" Mello gasped, shoving Matt up against a pile of taped up boxes.

He hadn't even considered anyone hearing the results of his nightmares, did anyone else know? It had been years.

Matt smirked from where he was pinned, "I never really expected you to swing _that way_, if you know what I mean, so I found it funny. You have that dream often. I take notice."

"Swing that way? _Swing that way?!" _Mello fumed, completely caught up in his anger.

For a brief moment, he felt as though he had no control, no ability to stop himself.

In one brief moment, he felt soft warmth against his lips, and then he was straightening up, moving away from the other boy, whilst staring at Matt's mouth.

It didn't seem to make sense.

His lips had just been there.

On Matt's.

In a...Kiss.

Despite how numb he felt, he managed to make one last parting statement.

"_I swing however I want to swing, fucker."_

And then he was gone, leaving a bewildered Matt behind him.

And for once wondering why he hated cigarettes_._

...Because Matt had tasted so damn _good._

* * *

**Do you forgive me for taking so long to update now? ;]**

**I hope so. You should show me some of the love that I practically whore myself out for on this site: Reviews.**

**I would like to know how you felt about this chapter.**

**BTW-Poll is still up. Check it out, I'll be taking it down soon.  
AND that I'm going to be editing the early chapters, not for content, but because fanfiction deleted my page breaks.  
If you notice me fixing them, don't worry, I'm not changing any content, just adjusting, to make it easier to read. I'll be done by 2 months from now.**

**Love you all. A lot. More than you know. Mwah!**


	14. AUTHORS NOTE CHAPTER

Hello faithful readers.

Normally I'd NEVER post a chapter that wasn't a chapter…But I feel as though it's been so long, I need to justify, clarify, and remind you all that I exist.

It's been a long time.

I have explanations if you'd like to hear them.

If you do…Here's the long story short:

I got arrested for shoplifting, due to peer pressure and idiocy, and my parents took away my computer privileges. Then, when I got them back, I fell hard for a boy, just to have him break my heart several months later. Then my computer crashed, and I lost Microsoft Word. I got it back, started writing again…And then my computer crashed again. My sister got a DUI. I had a lot of school work going on. And this summer I spent the entire vacation 2,421 miles away. I just got a NEW computer, installed Microsoft Word…and now I'm back in action.

…Sorry.

I can't be more thankful that you've all stayed with me, and I'm so sorry if any of you have to go reread my stories just to remember what they're about.

But I'm back. I'm currently in the process of writing the next chapter of Spoiling Revenge.

[I'm only posting this on Spoiling Revenge, because I'm not sure if demand is high enough for me to continue my others, or just to end or scrap them]

Okay. There are a few things I'd like to bring to attention:

A new poll has been added. Please check it out. Tell me what you think.

The old poll is still up. Be sure to check it out. BOTH ARE VITAL TO THE FUTURE OF THIS STORY, AS WELL AS THE RATE OF AN UPDATE.

If you read 'Protecting Confession' do you want it continued?

You're the best readers/reviewers on the planet and I love you all.

Here's a sneak peek to one of the next three chapters [depending on the outcome of the polls], just to satisfy/thank/appease you (as well as to get your opinion):

**Matt smirked at the blond and laughed, "What the hell are you doing?"**

**Mello glared at him, groaning and coughing, "I'm smoking, you dumb fuck. What does it look like?"**

"**Well it looks to me as if you're coughing up a lung."**

**Mello only glared harder.**

"**C'mon Mels. We both know you hate cigarettes with a passion."**

"**Yeah, well…I've been taking smoking up as a 'Now and Then' sort of thing," Mello said, regarding the cigarette in his hand with a dark look, "I'm assuming it's an acquired taste."**

"**It's not," Matt chuckled, drawing closer to the other boy, "you either like it, or you hate it. Now why have you really been doing this?"**

**Mello sighed and stamped the thing out, muttering about how it 'wasn't working anyway.' He looked up at Matt and sighed. "What does it matter? Why haven't you just yelled at me for being a fucking fag, and left already?"**

**Matt stepped even nearer, if that was possible, to the blond.**

"**I'm not yelling, because of these," he mumbled, pulling something silver out of his pocket, and holding it in front of Mello's face, "they make me just like you."**

"**Tin foil turned you gay? Wow. My savior," Mello scoffed, turning away.**

**The red head grabbed his arm and pulled him back quickly. He glanced at the other boy before hesitantly responding, "It's not tin foil," his expression grew sheepish as he looked anywhere but at the other boy, "They're Hershey Kiss wrappers."**

"**I don't see the significance," Mello said, confusion settling over his features.**

"**I have these for the same reason you have that pack of cigarettes," Matt declared, smirking at Mello's stricken expression, knowing the blond was putting two and two together, "I have these because you kissed me. I thought, maybe, if I ate chocolate that I'd be able to taste you again…But just the same as me and cigarettes, **_**chocolate**_** doesn't taste like you, **_**you**__**just taste like chocolate."**_

"**You ate those because you couldn't have me?" Mello asked.**

**Matt nodded before replying, "Just as you smoked those because you couldn't have me."**

**They both flinched at the awkward silence this caused, and Mello was suddenly painfully aware of just how close to him Mail was.**

"**But what if—" Mello sighed.**

"**What if, what?"**

"**What if…" Mello tried again, "Fuck it…What if you could have me?"**

**Mail simply stared at him.**

"**I'm serious. Years of avoiding you, years of silence, hatred over your current rank…forget that. Because I can't stop thinking about that one fucking kiss."**

**Mail froze, and then grinned, bringing his lips closer to Mello's, "Putting all of that aside. Skipping over the drugs, abandonment, and loneliness…" His smile grew, "Then I'd be lucky, Mihael."**

"**You'd have to stop with the drugs," Mello warned, his lips brushing Matt's.**

"**I've been off hard drugs for a while, and weed is nothing compared to you," Mail breathed, "Just don't leave me again. Friends were one thing, but if this is happening, you can't leave again."**

**Mail held his breath, waiting for a response, while he both cursed his intellect for forcing him into growing up so fast, as well as froze all thought process that went beyond how close Mihael's mouth was to his own.**

"**I'll never leave you."**

**And **_**that**_** was all Mail needed to hear.**

SEE? I DO LOVE YOU.

They may be moving a bit fast [tell me if you want me to save this, or at least them getting together for a later chapter, since I recognize that they're still young…] But I think it suits them.

(Sneak peek is subject to minor change for flow/editing purposes)

Alright, thanks for reading.

XOXO,

Jinna.


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